Hit The Couch
by Madam Mimm
Summary: A Dean/Cas parallel to "Welcome To The Stage"; reading the other is not essential. Human AU. Dean sucks it up and visits a psychologist, hoping to kick a bad habit to the curb. Maybe they'll teach each other something. Pre-slash, background Sam/Gabe
1. Chapter 1

Dean was currently sat in a psychologist's waiting room, and as far as he was concerned, it was all Sam's fault. His brother had been going on and on at him in an attempt to get him to go to counselling. Apparently, going on a date with some guy gave him grounds to nag his brother into seeing a counsellor. Stupid Sam and his stupid "Dean, I worry about you" argument.

Maybe Dean was uncomfortable because he didn't like head-shrinkers. He'd seen enough of them when he was a kid.

Maybe Dean was uncomfortable because Sam had told him this particular shrinker was his date's brother, and a lecturer at the college Dean had dropped out of two years previously.

Maybe Dean was uncomfortable because he was secretly of the opinion that Sam was right.

That last thought got bound, gagged, locked in the closet and thrown into the basement. Which was also locked. And bricked up. Then wall-papered over, and with a car parked in front of it, which Dean proceeded o focus on.

Cars. Manly. Haa.

Dean wasn't gay. Sam was gay, or bi, or whatever, and he'd long since accepted that. But Dean was straight. Straight, straight, straight. He just… it was really just this one guy who things always got out of hand with.

The receptionist, a blonde girl with wide eyes and a far-away gleam in her eye, jumped out of her skin as the intercom buzzed next to her.

"Rebecca…" A gravelly voice spoke slowly over the static of the intercom. "If you could send in my next appointment, please."

"Ok, Doctor DiAngelo." She breathed, looking a little scared of the intercom. "And… and it's Becky."

"My apologies." Came the reply, and Becky smiled across at Dean.

"Go on through."

Dean stood, took a deep breath, and walked into the psychologist's office. He didn't need to be here. He'd only made the appointment to shut Sam up. That was all, and he'd tell the head-shrinker himself.

"Ah, Mr. Winchester. Please, take a seat."

Dean was pretty sure his heart stopped. The man behind the desk (slim, pine type thing that probably came from Ikea and matched the laminate floors, white walls, blue curtains and numerous bookcases that sprawled around the room) was slender, around the same age as Dean, with pale skin, dark hair and eyes like goddamn diamonds.

"Uh… Dean." He said, sitting down and holding out his hand, because he part of his brain that made him look like an intelligent human being had apparently gone for a sandwich.

"A pleasure to meet you." He shook his hand, intent stare catching Dean like a rabbit in headlights. "If it helps you feel more comfortable, you may call me Castiel."

"Castiel." Dean nodded, glancing around, nervously. It was a nice office, although a little bare.

"So, Dean. What can I help you with today?"

Dean instantly flushed, and stared at the floor.

"My brother thought I should come here. He, uh… he thinks I'm in a bad relationship, thinks I need help getting out of it."

"I see." Castiel made a note on his pad, before returning his gaze to Dean. "If you don't mind my asking, how exactly is it… a "bad" relationship?"

"It's not." Dean stated, glaring across the desk at Castiel. Castiel held up his hands.

"My apologies. I meant to ask how your brother believed it to be "bad"."

"It's… casual." Dean shrugged, staring at the floor again. "We're on and off, you know? We're friends, we hook up, we fall out, then the cycle repeats."

"I see." Castiel made another note. "And the… should I say partner?"

"That might be a bit strong."

"The… other party?"

Dean nodded. Castiel sat back a little in his chair.

"Would you say the other party is aware of this cycle as much as you are?"

"Yeah."

"And would you say she enforces it?"

"He."

"Sorry?"

"He. It's…" Dean cleared his throat, looking up in time to meet a slightly confused head-tilt from Castiel. "It's a guy."

"Oh. Forgive me, I'd presumed…"

"I'm straight. I just… have this thing with this one guy. But I'm straight."

"Oh…" Castiel looked at him for a moment, before interlocking his fingers. "May I ask, Dean, is your brother by any chance Sam Winchester?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"Gabriel has mentioned him. I've yet to make his acquaintance." Castiel stared at him. "Is that why you came to me, specifically?"

"Yeah, I'd, uh… Sam apparently bitched about me to your brother, and he suggested I see you. Or something. I gotta be honest; I only did this to make Sam quit bitching."

"You see your brother regularly?"

"We live together. We used to go to college together, but I dropped out."

"And what would you have done?"

"What, in college? I don't know… I took psychology, sport science and engineering. I think I was only really doing it because Sam was. That's why I dropped out; it just wasn't for me."

"I see." Castiel was noting all of this down, his gaze flicking from page to Dean and back again. "So you would say you're close to your brother? Are you as close to the rest of your family?"

"Yeah. Well, I work at the family business; Bobby and Ellen own and run an auto-yard, and I work there nine 'til five every other day. I'm looking for a job elsewhere though, since Bobby's set that he doesn't want me stuck there."

Castiel paused for a moment.

"You're obviously close, and yet you call your parents by their given names..?"

"Oh, well, they're not really my parents." Dean shrugged, not used to talking so much about himself. "Adopted."

"Ah." Castiel tapped his pen against his notepad, causing Dean to look at the man's fingers. He had very long, slender fingers. The man as a whole was willowy, as though a strong breeze might send him skittering away. Dean was sure he looked like a lumbering ox in comparison. "How old were you?"

"God, I don't know… Nine, maybe? Ten? Around there."

"I see…" He sat back, and levelled Dean with another intense, curious stare. He was evaluating Dean like he was some sort of ancient puzzle, and Dean was worried to realise that he wasn't entirely uncomfortable with it.

What kind of car did Castiel drive, Dean wondered. He focused on that, trying to place the kind of car a psychologist would drive.

"What do you hope to take away from counselling?"

"I was… like I said, I only came here to shut Sam up, so…"

"I think you could benefit from some additional sessions." Castiel looked at him openly and unabashedly. "If only to have a confidant; you seem a little weary, and I feel it would improve your mental health if you just had someone to talk to."

Dean thought.

"I'd like that. Especially now Sam's all… But I reserve the right to veto anything you ask."

"Of course." Castiel nodded. "I do not aim to make you uncomfortable. You are paying me, after all. You are in charge of these sessions."

"Really? Ok…" Dean liked being in charge. It made everything a lot simpler.

"So, now we have established that you will be attending for further sessions, what would you like to get out of them?"

Dean stared at his hands for a moment.  
>"I want out of this relationship thing. I mean, whatever it is, it's too confusing, it messes everything up. I want to just end it, and end it for good."<p>

"We can do that." Castiel nodded. "You do appreciate that it won't be a… "quick fix"? It may take several sessions to get you to a point where you are ready for it, but I will always be willing to help you."

"Ok." Dean nodded. "So…where would we start?"

"I would like to know more about your… "relationship", if that's alright with you."

Dean exhaled, shifting his weight awkwardly in his chair. Castiel cleared his throat.

"Or we could speak more about Sam." Dean instantly relaxed. "How do you feel, in regards to his relationship with Gabriel?"

"Is it a relationship?" Dean chuckled. "He doesn't tell me squat. But I got the sense that it wasn't a thing yet."

"Perhaps it isn't." Castiel nodded. "Gabriel has certainly made it clear he wishes to keep their advances at a slow pace."

"Well, good."

Castiel cocked his head at this. Den shrugged.

"Last thing Sam needs right now is to rush into anything."

"And you feel you have to look out for him?"

"Someone has to."

Castiel made another note on his pad.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty… five." Dean nodded, straining his memory.

"You sound unsure."

"Well, you know." Dean shrugged. "He's my kid brother, he's still twelve in my head."

"I see…"

"What? That's normal. Do you have younger siblings?"

"No." Castiel conceded, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "Perhaps it is normal behaviour, given my brothers actions towards me… Would you say you share a lot with your brother? Confide in each other?"

Dean shrugged.

"I don't like chick-flick moments."

Castiel cocked his head to one side.

"I don't understand."

"You know, sharing and caring stuff. We… I let him know what he needs to know. I don't need to tell him everything."

"But he should tell you everything?"

Dean scowled, and spoke with a forced, measured tone.

"I don't see how that's going to help me kick my relationship, doc."

Castiel stared at him for a moment, the cold blue of his eyes stable as he matched Dean's glare. After a moment, he blinked down at the table.

"My apologies. Perhaps I overstepped the mark… Is there anything you would like to talk about? We have…" He consulted his watch, before looking up at Dean. "We have twenty minutes of session left. It was only a half hour you requested?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Uh… I guess I could talk about him a little bit… the guy."

"Would you comfortable naming him?"

"No, I… he could get in trouble." Dean cleared his throat. "He, uh… we started this thing while I was still… in college. And he was my lecturer."

"Ah." Castiel nodded, noting down on his pad again. "So this has been going on for..?"

"Nearly two years, on and off."

Castiel chuckled to himself, the brief show of emotion causing Dean to raise an eyebrow. Castiel dismissed it.

"Nothing… It's just a situation I'm not entirely unfamiliar with." As soon as it had come, it passed, and Castiel was once again the stilted psychologist. "How should we refer to the gentleman in question, then? What would make you most comfortable?"

"Uh…" Dean shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable in spite, or perhaps because of Castiel's concern for his relaxation. "I don't know… Sam always calls him the mystery guy, I guess?"

"Mystery Guy…" Castiel grimaced slightly at the sound of the words. "You'll forgive me, I'm sure it sounds more acceptable when he says it."

The phrase did sound odd in Castiel's clipped accent, and Dean had to admit he thought it sounded much less awkward when Sam said it.

"We could just call him… I don't know, my friend or something?"

"Your friend." Castiel nodded. "That will serve perfectly. May I ask how you began the… the 'cycle' you mentioned earlier?"

Dean cleared his throat, shifting his weight in his chair.

"We started out just hanging out. We met in a bar and agreed that we made good drinking buddies. Then… I don't know."

"Dean?"

Dean didn't look at Castiel. Castiel stared at him, leaning forward in his chair.

"Dean, these sessions will only work if you are honest with me. You understand that I…

"I don't know." Dean repeated, forcefully. "I was really drunk, I don't remember it."

Castiel leant back slowly, holding his hands up.

"Very well. What do you enjoy in life, Dean?"

"You mean like hobbies? I don't know… cars, loud music, watching sports…" Dean shrugged. Castiel stared at him for a moment, as if he'd just told a joke that Dean had failed to get. "What?"

"Nothing. They sound like thoroughly typical pastimes for a young, straight man such as yourself."

"Yeah." Dean grunted, not appreciating the implication in Castiel's tone.

Castiel stared at him for a moment more, before continuing to write notes on his notepad. He glanced up at Dean, before writing a few more notes. Inwardly, Castiel sighed and silently wept. Outwardly, he was the utmost professional. This was going to be a long twenty minutes.

(-*-)

At the end of the session, Castiel heard Dean make another appointment with Becky, and waited until he was sure he'd heard the office door close before he went to leave.

"Becky. I shall be taking my lunch hour now. Please take calls until I return."

"Ok." Becky stammered, smiling awkwardly up at her boss. Castiel returned the awkward smile, and left. He wasn't sure he liked her, but the agency he had hired her from gave her excellent recommendations.

Castiel started heading down the street without a moment's hesitation. He would eat at his brother Gabriel's. It wasn't far, and he had come to understand that Gabriel had been somewhat disheartened lately, due to a lack of communication between himself and his new paramour, Sam Winchester. Castiel, being the concerned little brother that he was, felt it his duty to visit and make sure that his brother was ok. That, and Gabriel always offered to make food for him, which Castiel wasn't about to protest.

He wandered down the street, his thoughts half occupied with the troubling psychological state of his new client. Dean Winchester was not a healthy man, and Castiel had a feeling he may not have been the best person to help him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he tried to ignore it.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean glared at his phone. He had two more rings before it ticked over to voicemail. He shouldn't pick up.

Sam was passed out next to him, taking up most of the couch. He'd wake up, if the phone kept ringing.

He shouldn't pick up.

He shouldn't, he shouldn't, he shouldn't, he shouldn't, he…

"Hey."

Goddamnit.

"Dean." The sandpapered-smooth voice seemed to luxuriate in the single word. Dean found his weak resolve crumbling by the second. "You know, for a minute there, I'd thought you wouldn't pick up. And we both know how unimpressed I would have been at that." There was a chuckle there, as dry, no doubt, as the scotch the caller was currently swilling.

"Yeah, sorry." Dean tried to laugh as well, but found it difficult to negotiate the irritatingly familiar lump in his throat. "I, uh… couldn't find my phone."

"Oh." The caller paused for a moment, letting Dean squirm in uncomfortable silence. "You're not still mad about what happened last week, are you? What I said?"

"No." Dean grunted, glaring at his shoes like a chastised child. "I just, uh… Like I said, I couldn't find my phone."

"Good." The other man muttered, leaving Dean to another long, agonising pause. "So what's new with you, Dean? Would you like to come over and have a scotch or two this evening? I've got some good money riding on the game tonight."

"No, I can't." Dean lied, knowing exactly what would happen if he went over there. "I have to look after Sam. He's ill."

It wasn't strictly untrue. Sam had been running himself ragged the last two weeks, since Bobby took ill. Sam usually only worked part time at the salvage yard, but he'd taken on two extra shifts to pick up the slack (if only so that Bobby would stop trying to soldier on and rest his stubborn ass). Between that, working at a bar and school, Sam was permanently exhausted, and Dean had to make sure he didn't pass out or stick his finger in a plug socket or do something equally sleep-deprived and stupid. It was as good an excuse as any.

"Shame…" Crowley simpered. "I won't push you though; I know how you get with your brother. Maybe next time, hmm?"

"Yeah…" Dean croaked, instantly cursing himself "Maybe."

"I'll see you around, Dean." Crowley spoke with the assured, predatory nature of a pack alpha. Dean sighed and let himself slump back against the couch… as much as he could manage, anyway, when Sam was sprawling himself across the majority of it.

Shit.

Shit, shit shit.

How was he supposed to kick this bad cycle of a whatever-the-hell-it-was he had with Crowley when deep down he knew he wanted the guy? It wasn't even like he found Crowley physically attractive.

Because he was totally not gay, so he wouldn't even find a guy attractive anyway. Ever. Shut up.

He'd made it this long. He'd made it almost a week without taking Crowley's calls. He'd have to ask, next time he saw Castiel, whether there was a certain way he could get Crowley to just leave him the hell alone. That sure would make everything easier.

"Dean?" Sam sat up on the couch, glancing around blearily. "What time is it?"

"It's eight thirty, Sammy." Dean sighed. "You've only been out for a half hour, don't worry."

"Oh, man…" Sam sighed, sitting up properly and running his hands through his hair. "This week is really doing a number on me… Shit, I was going to call Gabriel today… or did I do that already?"

"How should I know?" Dean tutted, kicking half-heartedly at Sam's foot as he stood and walked to the bathroom. "Go to sleep, you're tired."

"Yeah…" Sam must have been beyond tired if he wasn't putting up a fight. The kid had never been one to agree when Dean, or anyone, suggested he call it a night. "When's your next thing? Appointment?"

"With Castiel?" Dean stopped, turning back to look at Sam. "Why?"

"I just want to know. I have a date with Gabriel on Thursday, and…"

"Oh, no, don't want to hear it. Saturday morning, ok?"

"Thank you." Sam yawned, and stood up. "Hey, how's that going?"

"What?"

"The counselling. You've had two appointments now, right?"

"Yeah, but we've not really done anything yet. He says he's still 'building a profile', whatever that means."

"You like him?" Sam stretched, before catching the suspicious glare Dean shot at him. "What? I mean 'as a doctor'."

"I guess. He's… he's not like I was expecting. I was kind of… I was expecting more like those shrinkers we had to go see when we were kids. After the whole thing with Dad."

"Oh." Sam smirked. "I can see why you were so reluctant…"

"Well, he's not, so that's something. Anyway, shouldn't you be going to bed?"

"Yeah…" Sam grumbled, dragging his feet the arduous distance from couch to bedroom. Dean sighed and shook his head as he wandered into the bathroom, slapping on the shower.

Castiel hadn't been what he was expecting at all. He was young, Dean had found out at their second session. The same age as Dean, which had caused him to worry as he realised that meant Sam and Gabriel had to have a ridiculous age gap. He had pointed this out, and Castiel had mused on Dean's preoccupation with worrying about Sam. Dean had practically slammed his head into the desk.

As the water heated and steamed, Dean started pulling his shirt above his head. Castiel was… odd. He had a very subtle sense of humour, combined with something of an overload of manners, meaning that sometimes Dean wouldn't realise the man had told a joke until an hour after they'd parted ways. He was also oddly intense, and Dean supposed it was good to have a counsellor who focused on you like you were the sole object of importance in his world. It was probably supposed to be reassuring, or confidence-boosting or something. It kind of freaked Dean out a little bit, but it was oddly hypnotic at the same time.

"Odd" seemed like the best word to describe Castiel.

Dean scowled and finished undressing, getting in the shower. Freaking Crowley, phoning him up and making him think about shit.

(-*-)

How had it happened?

Castiel had been flicking absently through the stack of essays he had to mark. It wasn't pressingly urgent, but he had supposed he should get the irritating task out of the way and done with. He had wondered, not for the first time, if he shouldn't drop teaching all together and switch to being a full-time counsellor. He didn't mind the actual teaching side of things, but he couldn't stand marking, grading the students, seeing just how much his course meant to them in terms of time and effort.

It was depressing.

His phone had beeped in its irritating manner, and he had answered it immediately, his prayers for a distraction having apparently been answered.

"Good evening. Castiel DiAngelo speaking, who may I say is calling?"

"Castiel."

"Crowley." Castiel had balked instantly, marvelling at this proof that there was a god, and he was a bastard. "Good evening."

"How are you? I always find Wednesdays rather dull, don't you?"

"I'm actually marking papers right now…"

"Papers? You task-master." Crowley had heaved a dramatic sigh. "I make mine mark each others. Teaches understanding of protocol. And saves me a lot of time."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, I'm sure there is." He could hear the snide smirk in Crowley's voice. "But first and foremost, I have a rather expensive bottle of port that needs to be halved. Come over in the next half hour and we'll find something much more interesting to do than mark papers. See you then."

Crowley had hung up.

Castiel had been very aware that his brother would kill him. Gabriel had given up on being patient with Castiel and his unnamed hot-then-cold suitor. For two years or so, he had listened to Castiel complain about how Crowley would love and leave. Or, Castiel had thought bitterly, was pushed. But… this was just one night…

The papers would still be there tomorrow morning, he had thought.

And sure enough they were. His self esteem, self worth and power to remain as an individual, however, were absent.

Castiel grimaced at the papers, being the first thing he saw as he came in through the front door. That was how it had happened. It was the same way it had happened countless times before. It was how he was now tired, aching and slightly hung-over, feeling utterly ashamed of himself.

Castiel made himself some coffee and sat down to do his job. He had returned from his night at Crowley's, and he would work. He wouldn't shower, yet, or give himself breakfast. He would get on with his job with the sense of dirty shame that he had sentenced himself to. He shouldn't get back together with Crowley, he knew that. But he always did, because Crowley always gave him one more chance. And this time, he wouldn't push. He wouldn't stress any point, or suggest anything to move their relationship forward. He wouldn't do anything to make Crowley leave him.

As he corrected paragraph after paragraph of half recalled facts, Castiel absently wondered whether Gabriel was driving himself mad yet. It was his big dinner-date with Sam this evening… Castiel felt a pang of jealously as his stomach appealed for food. Gabriel's cooking was something marvellous. Castiel was pretty sure that, when he eventually let himself eat, it would be cornflakes. If he had milk.

(-*-)

Dean stared at the TV. It would probably have been more entertaining if he turned it on, but he knew there wasn't going to be anything on anyway, so he figured he'd save his legs and the electricity and just stare at the dark screen.

It was eleven pm. Sam went out for his big dinner date hours ago.

He hadn't heard anything from Crowley in days.

Not, Dean reminded himself, that he cared about Crowley. He didn't care about Crowley, he didn't want to see Crowley, and he certainly didn't want to end up in bed with Crowley like he always did.

He cared about Sam. He was caring about Sam, and why Sam hadn't gotten home yet, because Sam wasn't an adult and this "Gabriel" guy, whatever the fuck kind of name that was, was clearly being some sort of predator and was probably fucking his kid brother right now and oh Jesus Christ don't think about that.

Dean shook his head to snap himself out of it. Sam was an adult. He could take care of himself. Dean found a small, shy part of himself thinking that maybe he was only obsessing so much about Sam because he couldn't admit that he was lonely. And that he wanted Crowley.

"Fucking Sam." Dean growled, standing up. Once he'd stood up, he didn't really know what to do, so he stomped into his room. Of course, he thought, Sam would go and fall for some creepy old predator now, when he was supposed to be focusing on his studies and was only just getting over the chain of disastrous relationships he pushed himself into because he was still hurting over Jess' death. How could he make such a back-slide, thought Dean, as he took out his phone and dialled from memory.

How could he shy away from making any progress like that, thought Dean, as he waited for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Hey." He said, when the phone had finally been answered. "Listen, I know it's late, but I really need a drink. There's shit with Sam, and it's driving me crazy. Do you think I could swing by?"

"Of course." If Dean realised how menacingly smooth Crowley's voice was, he didn't make a point of it. "Come over as soon as you can."

Dean was already half way out the door, replaying his last few thoughts over and over, like a mantra. Constantly reminding himself that he was only doing this because he was angry at Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: A brief pause to advertise myself! I'm branching out, so follow me on twitter (vikkiethemimm) or subscribe to WhatHaveYouComedy to see my new and varied projects! Exclamation marks! Woo! Ok, seriously. On with the story.**

(-*-)

At five minutes past nine, Dean stormed into Castiel's office, let the door slam shut behind him, and threw himself into the chair on the other side of the desk. Castiel blinked up at him, seemingly unfazed.

"Am I to understand you are not having a good day?"

Dean huffed a bitter, humourless laugh, and glared at the wall. Castiel nodded, stood, and went to one of his bookcases.

"Would you like to discuss it?"

Dean gave a gruff grumble which Castiel surmised was an answer in the negative. He ran his fingers across the spines of his books, scanning the titles.

"Very well. Would you suggest something else to talk about?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Castiel blinked, but didn't turn around.

"No. I have recently reunited with a… an ex-partner, I suppose."

Dean was silent for a moment.

"You're gay."

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, just… How do you know that you like someone?"

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Dean was looking in his direction, but not really seeing him.

"It used to be easy, right? In school… college. Find someone you like the look of, ask them to see a movie, keep asking them out places 'til they sleep with you, right?"

"That is certainly the pattern I've seen most follow."

"But once you're an adult it gets all complicated, right? It's like playing emotional poker or something."

"I'm not sure I understand…"

"You're not allowed to just say 'I like you' or… or, 'there's this thing about me', or 'you need to know this about me'. You have to play your cards and make sure they don't know when you're bluffing. It's like you have to play it so you're trying not to get attached, even though that's the only reason people get involved, right?"

"A lot of relationships run that way." Castiel nodded, finally selecting a book and crossing back to lean against his desk. "We all aim for finding our one true love, but when we do find someone, we're reluctant to commit, in case that person isn't our 'one' right person. We worry we'll have some sort of… commitment buyer's remorse."

"So how do you know?" Dean looked at him for the first time, brow creased with legitimate concern. "How do you know that you want to commit to someone?"

Castiel thought for a moment, running a hand over his chin.

"I doubt I am the… best person to discuss this with you." Castiel smiled, sheepishly. "To use your previous analogy, my recent reunion has been the result of a rather longwinded game of poorly played cards. There have been many instances of people leaving the table over... discrepancies with the rules."

"Sounds familiar." Dean gave another humourless laugh. "So how long do you think people need before they can know each other well enough to commit?"

"It varies. Some people form an attachment instantly, but with most it takes longer. I'd say usually a month or two."

"Right!" Dean's anger was renewed, and the sudden spark of irritation seemed to surge him into standing. Castiel blinked, but didn't recoil. "So I was totally right."

"Right?"

"Sam. Sam and his stupid boyfriend. I mean, no offence, I know he's your brother, but what a dick!"

Castiel sat up a little straighter, watching Dean cautiously.

"What happened?"

"Sam went over there the night before last for a date. And I figured I'd wait up for him, because… I don't know, he's all stressed and freaking out lately, and figured it'd be better to wait up and have nothing be wrong than fall asleep when he needed me. So I wait up for him, and it gets to like half eleven and I realise he's probably not coming home. Sam's been on three dates with this guy, there's no way he knows him well enough to… I mean, Sam's been through serious shit, he doesn't need some guy messing him around. And I told Sam all of this yesterday, and he refused to see reason, just because…"

Dean stopped himself, and glared at the wall again. Castiel had a horrible feeling two weeks of steady progress were about to be undone.

"Why wouldn't he believe you, Dean?"

"Because… I was really angry and I needed a drinking buddy, so I… I called him."

"Your partner."

"Yes."

"Who you want to leave."

"Yes. Ok, I know it was stupid, but… I just needed something to take my mind off the idea that Sam was throwing his heart away again."

"I see." Castiel kept his tone neutral as he grabbed his notepad and pen.

"No you don't. Sam's had a chain of horrible relationships because he's afraid to go near anyone who might treat him right. He's stressing over law school and work, and I don't think he's over what happened between us and Dad. He doesn't need some… comedian… blowing into his life and using him. And I told him that, and Sam said he "refused to speak to me", because he's a massive girl. But you said yourself, I'm totally in the right."

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, trying to navigate the perilous territory that was Dean's logic, before tearing a sheet of paper from the notepad.

"First, I want to give you this. This is my telephone number. Whenever you feel yourself going to call this man of yours, you must call me instead. You're clearly not strong enough yet to confront him. Take it." He pressed the piece of paper into Dean's hand, before moving back to sit behind the desk. "Secondly, I have noticed you often speak about yourself in the context of your family, and I feel the root of your problems may lie within your family history. If you'd be so kind as to indulge me, I'd like to know what exactly transpired between your father and yourself."

"No, I don't…"

"Dean. Please. Let me help you."

Dean shot him a resentful glare, before shrugging.

"Mom died when Sam was a baby. I was four. Dad tried to bring us up best he could on his own, but he was broken. Drank. A lot. He was real strict; ran our house like a freakin' army base, but that was the only way he knew how to deal with us. When I was ten, social services took us away from him, and we got adopted by Bobby and Ellen. Not much to say."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but Dean just glared back. He didn't want to elaborate, and he knew Castiel wouldn't make him. True enough, Castiel sighed and sat back in his chair, watching Dean closely.

"I take it your father was deemed unsuitable to care for children."

"Yes."

"May I ask how?"

"No… He never hurt us, though, if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't suggesting anything." Castiel turned a calming gaze on Dean. "What happened, between yourself and your… partner?"

"I went out drinking with him." Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Stayed the night. Ended up agreeing to do it again tonight." He looked suitably ashamed of himself, at least. Dean pressed his hands over his eyes. "I don't even… I'm not… attracted. To him, really."

"Have you ever found yourself attracted to a man?" Castiel gazed unquestioningly at him.

"No." Dean stated, with a little too much insistence to be true. Castiel stared at him. Dean glared at the floor. "I don't know. I mean, I can appreciate when a guy's good looking, but that doesn't make me gay."

"Not at all."

"And wanting to look like them… that's not gay, that's just… body consciousness."

"Indeed. But looking at them and perhaps finding that interesting… appealing…"

"I'm not gay." Dean glared at him, a very final note to his statement. Castiel allowed the conversation to drop. Dean sat down again, looking uncomfortable in the small chair. "Look, whether I'm gay or not isn't what I'm here to sort out. I just want to get rid of this guy."

"My apologies." Castiel rested his pen neatly above his notepad.

"I just… I'm still pissed at Sam. Sometimes it's like he doesn't even want to help himself. And he gets all offended when I worry for him, but it's not like he's going to worry for himself. He's just…"

"Perhaps it is time for you to accept that Sam is an adult? Perhaps the more you try to control him, the more he will try to act outside of your control."

"Trust him, you mean?" Dean laughed. "Yeah… I try, doc. He doesn't give me much hope."

"Dean." Castiel smiled. "As the youngest of my family, I feel I would be doing Sam a very large favour if I encourage you to put your trust in him. He is an adult, you cannot change that. Perhaps you should accept it, and trust that if he has a problem, he'll come to you."

Dean stared at him.

"Smart-ass… but you're probably right. Dammit, I'm just a total mess lately."

"I was actually considering, for our sessions, taking them out of office." Castiel smiled at him. "You seem to be the sort of man who would benefit from a more casual setting."

"Really?" Dean smiled back. "We can do that?"

"If you feel it will help our counselling sessions."

"Well, uh… we've got fifteen minutes left… could we start now and go to that burger place downstairs? I skipped breakfast."

"Of course."

They stood and left the office, and Dean was slightly unnerved to see Becky start nervously, failing to convince anyone that she hadn't been listening in.

"Mr Winchester and I will be continuing his session downstairs. Hold my calls, please, Rebecca."

"Yes, Doctor DiAngelo." She stammered, fumbling with the sheets of paper on her desk. "And… and it's Becky…"

"Ah." Castiel nodded. "Of course. My apologies."

(-*-)

The fast food restaurant was quiet, but not empty. Castiel didn't order any food, but did get a coffee. Dean got himself a quarter pounder and fries, and was not ashamed to eat in front of Castiel.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"No, thank you. I try to avoid fast food wherever possible."

"Yeah… Sam's always saying I should eat more healthily, but salad just isn't as satisfying as a big old hunk of processed meat, you know?"

Castiel nodded, stirring his coffee. He looked like he was about to answer when his phone trilled, primly.

"I apologise…"

"No, dude, it's cool."

"It's only a message. It can wait."

"No, go ahead."

Castiel smiled thankfully, and checked his phone. It was a message from Crowley, consisting of four bleak little words. "Have to cancel tonight."

No explanation. No apology. The same message Castiel had received countless times before, and yet it still felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under him. He forced a deep breath, and returned his phone to his pocket. Dean was not ignorant.

"Something up?"

"Oh, nothing." Castiel dismissed. "A… cancellation."

"A patient or..?"

"No, more personal."

"Oh." Dean nodded, awkwardly. "Well… sorry."

"It is not your fault."

"Yeah, but… that sucks. Was it your not-an-ex-anymore?"

"Yes." Castiel sighed, sitting back in his chair. "I had thought we were on amicable terms, but… I'm sorry, it's a complicated arrangement."

"No sweat." Dean shrugged. "I mean, I tell you stuff, right?"

"Yes, but I am your counsellor. It would be unprofessional to exchange problems…"

"But…" Dean grinned, eyes shining. "It might encourage me to share more. And that would help, right?"

Castiel got the distinct image of a child trying to weasel his way out of a lesson by distracting the teacher. He shook his head.

"It is much the same as your own situation. I ask too much too soon and scare him away." Castiel sniffed. "The problem is that he will never explain exactly what I have said or done to cool his affections. He is a frustrating man."

"So why do you keep going back to him? Sounds like he's messing you around."

"So everyone tells me." Castiel sighed. "But he keeps taking me back."

"Dude." Dean chuckled, around a mouthful of burger. "You and me are both really up shit creek, huh?"

"Something like it, yes."

(-*-)

Castiel returned to the office to see Becky staring slightly open mouthed at her computer screen. He cleared his throat, and she jumped almost a foot in the air, instantly turning bright red and clicking frantically to clear whatever it was she had been looking at.

"Um, Doctor DiAngelo, welcome back. You have, um… three messages, one from a miss Pamela Barnes saying she had some "vitally important gossip" for you, one from a Mr Crowley, but he said he'd reach you on your cell, and one from your next appointment. He was booked for an hour but he said he was cancelling because he didn't feel up to it."

She smiled feebly at him, and instantly buckled under his stare.

"Cancelled." Castiel repeated. Becky nodded dumbly. Castiel's fingers twitched, clenching into a fist and relaxing, the only sign of emotion about him. He rolled his shoulders, and swung around on his heel. "I have no reason to be here. You may finish whatever tasks you have to do and close the office."

And he left. It seemed everyone was cancelling on him, and he just couldn't take it. So he decided to fixate on the one thing he'd made a mental note not to fixate on. He marched over to Gabriel's apartment, set on yelling at him about distressing the Winchester brothers and directly contravening everything he had told Dean not a half hour previously. He was aware, of course, that he was suffering from a textbook case of displaced anger, but damn if it wasn't easier to deal with.


	4. Chapter 4

For the next three weeks, Dean saw Castiel for counselling and both of them shared the frustrations of being with hot and cold lovers. Castiel found himself laughing at Dean's jokes, sharing Dean's pain, and having some of the more interesting conversations he'd ever had with patients. It helped, he thought, that Dean was a very pleasingly proportioned man. One might almost say attractive…

"Hey." Crowley was already dressed again, and scrutinising Castiel. "Earth to brainbox."

"Sorry?"

"You're a little distracted. Anything the matter?"

"No." Castiel lied, guilt already tearing him up inside. He knew, now, that he had to end it with Crowley. He had come over here to suggest a more permanent break, and had ended up somehow being charmed into bed once more. He felt filthy at the mere thought of it, more so when he guiltily admitted to himself that he had been imagining his own patient for a considerable amount of the time. There were many things about this situation that were unhealthy, and he had to start facing them.

Crowley just flashed an insincere smile and took a clean pair of socks from his dresser.

"I…" Castiel spoke without really being in charge of his senses. "I don't think we should see each other any more."

"Oh." Crowley said, looking up. He considered this. "Was it that bad?"

"No, it's not a decision based on the quality of our intercourses. I feel that we have been caught in a negative cycle for some time now, and I cannot in good conscience counsel patients about healthy relationships when I myself am engaged in…"

"Unhealthy?" Crowley repeated, a dangerous edge to his voice. "I can't help but take this somewhat personally, Castiel."

"It is not a personal decision." Castiel flushed, struggling to climb off of Crowley's bed and dress himself, the few fleeting moments of intimacy obliterated in the face of reality. "We make each other unhappy…"

"Do we?" Crowley scowled at him.

"Crowley, you cannot say you are happy with our arrangement." Castiel stared at him for a moment, before sighing and turning away. He buttoned his shirt, shrugging awkwardly as he felt Crowley's eyes on him. "I feel that we have… run our course."

"Well…" Crowley approached slowly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I can't say I'm not surprised, but… well. I shan't force you to stay where you don't want. Perhaps you're right. I hope we can at least stay professional once term starts."

"I was hoping we could remain friends. I would consider us…"

"Yes." Crowley nodded, patting Castiel's shoulder. "No hard feelings and all that jazz."

It had been oddly simple, and Castiel almost felt insulted by the straightforward nature of the transaction. Or he would have, if he had been able to tame his thoughts and drag them away from Dean damn Winchester. It hadn't been helped when Dean turned up two days before his scheduled appointment, and started causing a ruckus.

"Doctor DiAngelo is very busy right now and…"

"Look, he's got to have a little free space, I just really need to …"

"I can't… Mr. Winchester, please, just…"

Castiel opened the door to his office, to see Becky cowering behind her computer screen as Dean scowled down at her. He cleared his throat, and felt his heart melt a little bit at the relief in Dean's eyes. Then he felt like utter scum for being so attracted to his patient. Repress and deny, he told himself. Professionalism, always professionalism.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Cas, I need to talk to you. Like, right now." Dean looked frightened, almost pursued. He had worried himself into a state of near trauma, and Castiel, professional or not, could not in good conscience turn him away.

"Rebecca."

"It's Becky."

"My apologies. How long until my next appointment?"

"Well, you've got twenty minutes, but…"

"Will twenty minutes be sufficient?"

"Yeah." Dean seemed to sag with relief. "yeah, thanks. Thank you so much, I just…"

"Why don't you step into my office, Dean. Sit down."

"Thanks." Dean practically stumbled over to Castiel's desk, leaning against it. Castiel flashed an apologetic smile at Becky and shut his office door.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"I've… I've been trying to avoid him, but he just, he keeps calling me, and the longer I stay away, the more difficult it gets. And I just… I want him out, ok? Out of my life. Once and for all, for good."

"I see." Castiel nodded, fighting off the inappropriate suggestions with a stick as they leapt into his brain. Not only would hugging, kissing or professing unyielding, intensity-of-a-thousand-white-hot-suns love be incredibly unhelpful, but at this point in Dean's journey of self-acceptance, it could quite feasibly push him over the edge into a gibbering wreck. A fairly attractive gibbering wreck, thought the unhelpful bit of Castiel's brain, which he decided may as well be named "Gabriel" for all the help it was offering him.

"That's it? I take my stand and have a big defining moment and all you can say is "I see"? Not exactly filling me with confidence…"

"No, you're right. This is good, this is healthy. But, do you honestly feel you are ready to confront him?"

"Not yet." Dean admitted. "But… but if you could be there with me…"

Castiel blanched, and sat quickly behind his desk. The desk was nice. It was safe. It said he was a doctor, Dean was a patient, and anything else was irrelevant.

"That would be… inappropriate."

"No, not like… Just, if we went to a restaurant or something, and you could be there for moral support. Please?"

Castiel stared at the top of his desk. Dean sighed and pushed the chair away as he stood. He turned a hurt glare on Castiel.

"You're the only person I've ever talked to about this who gets it. Everyone else just makes jokes about me being in the closet or tells me it's messed up, they don't really help me. Not like you have. Please, Cas, you wouldn't even have to say anything. Just… Just be there with me. Please. I could use a friend."

Castiel had a whole new understanding of the term "emotionally torn". He cleared his throat again, and rested his hands flat on the top of the desk. He smiled calmly at Dean.

"I will see you at your appointment in a few days. We will rehearse the situation and help to prepare you for the conflict. Then you will set up the meeting, and I will do my best to attend and provide the moral support you need."

"Seriously? Thanks, Cas. You…" Dean looked for a moment like he was about to hug him, but settled for slapping him on the back. "You're awesome. Thanks."

"It's… you're welcome."

"Yeah… I should probably let you get on with your day, right? Sorry for freaking out."

Castiel wasn't listening any more. He smiled and nodded along until he heard the office door shut as Dean left, and then let his head fall flat onto the desk.

He was, effectively, doomed.

(-*-)

Dean had enough to worry about.

Bobby was sick. Jo was away at college. Sam was getting fairly serious with Gabriel, regardless of how much of a bad idea Dean told him it was. Crowley was phoning him almost every day, and Dean's phone, as a result, was almost permanently turned off. The cassette player in the impala had broken and he couldn't find a replacement, which meant he'd have to get a CD player and get all his favourite cassettes on CD. They were permanently running out of things like milk and bread. Sam was being a pissy bitch about his school grades. He'd lost a hundred dollars last week on what had always been his favourite ice hockey team, but now he was a hundred dollars out, his opinion of them had cooled somewhat.

Point was, a Big Gay Freak-Out with capital letters was not something he needed right now, and the patented repress and deny method wasn't working. He felt like the little boy with his thumb in the breaking dam. Dyke. Dammit.

Dean shook his head, and resisted the urge to get out and slam it in the car door.

The traffic light turned green, and he carried on driving to Castiel's office.

He couldn't believe Castiel was in the same situation as him. Or, had been, until he'd ended it. His telling Dean about that was what had inspired him to take the leap. "If he can, I can" sort of musketeers logic.

He still couldn't believe someone would be so cruel to a guy who was as nice as Castiel. He understood the concept of good things happening to bad people… in fact, his life was kind of based around it. But Castiel seemed like a genuinely nice guy who trusted so much in other people that it didn't even seem to occur to him that they were dicking him around.

It almost irritated him, seeing such a good guy treated so badly. But whatever. It wasn't his business. He had hoped Castiel would be a friend, after he'd finished counselling, but that was after. For now, he had to focus on the task. He had to end his whatever-it-was with Crowley. He had to admit it was bad, end it, and move on. Then he could figure out the rest of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean tried to be involved, but he wasn't really focusing on the floor show. He was finding the ribs more interesting than the scantily clad dancer who was parading the stage to Suzi Quatro's Can the Can. She just plain wasn't doing it for him, which wasn't helping his mood any. A waitress approached him, eyes lidded and seductive smile firmly in place he glared at her until she backed off again.

Growling to himself, he threw money for the ribs on the table and left.

He wasn't gay. He just… wasn't in the mood today. The fact that he couldn't stop thinking about Crowley or his counsellor or… or even guys who looked twice at him on the street… Dammit, he wasn't gay. It was just that he was having to sort out so much stuff lately (watching out for Sam who was spending more time with his boyfriend than on his studies and pretending everything was fine, and trying to deal with the whole Crowley situation, not to mention Bobby nagging at him about going back to college) that he was confused. Once he'd ended things with Crowley, though, that would be it. End of. No more.

Wearily, he trudged over to Castiel's office and waited for his appointment. Thankfully, Castiel seemed just as distracted and annoyed as Dean was, so he didn't dwell on asking Dean how he felt. Instead, they sat either side of Castiel's desk and did breathing exercises.

"Do you feel relaxed?"

"Yes." Dean lied. He felt really awkward.

"Now, take a deep breath in, and when you exhale, I want you to express the things you would like to say to your partner."

Dean took a deep breath in, held it for a second, closed his eyes and exhaled.

"You're a dick, and you've messed up my life."

He opened his eyes to see Castiel with a curious expression, somewhere between annoyed and quietly amused.

"It's… Well, I'm sensing some aggression…"

"Shit, yeah, I'm aggressive. The guy's caused me… what was it you said… emotional trauma or something."

"Yes, he's put you in a situation which has caused trauma, but he will respond better if..?"

"If… he's treated with respect." Dean parroted, knowing exactly what Castiel was getting at. They'd covered it before.

"Yes. He demeans you because..?"

"He… expects me to be a submissive, controllable partner. So if I treat him with manners then he won't have room to manipulate."

"Exactly. So what would you like to say to him?"

"That he's a dumb-ass S.O.B if he thinks he can kick me around…"

"Dean."

"Fine… I… want him to know that I am unhappy, and that… he's… provoking conflict which I don't deserve."

"Very good. That's exactly the tone you want to convey…"

"You mean, sounding like you?"

Dean smirked, gaining himself a withering glare from Castiel.

"If it helps you…"

"You sure I can't yell at him a little?"

"No, yelling would be bad. There's a lot of hostility there, Dean."

"Dick did cost me my future."

Castiel sat up straight at this. Dean instantly regretted saying it, but sighed wearily and shrugged under the scrutiny of Castiel's analyst glare.

"What? He made it very uncomfortable for me to be in college any more. And now I can't go back."

"Why not?" Castiel sat back, his eyes intent on Dean in a way that made him feel rather warm and uncomfortable. "There are plenty of mature students who…"

"Because for one thing I can't afford it, and for another… I don't know, I just… it felt like I didn't fit right before, but now I'd fit even less. And I guess he's kind of responsible for that."

Castiel nodded, stood, and wandered over to the window. Dean watched him closely, seeing a vaguely troubled expression on his face.

"How did you do it?"

"Hm?"

"You ended it with your guy, right? How did you do it?"

"Oh, it was… very straightforward. Almost insultingly so, if I'm honest. I told him we could not continue, he said he understood… that was it."

"Seriously?"

Castiel turned a weary, awkward smile on Dean.

"I… think I misinterpreted the physical nature of the relationship for something more emotional."

"Oh, dude, that sucks."

"Yes… well, let's try something. Imagine I am your partner."

"It'll take some imagining…"

"No, stand up."

Dean stood, shrugging. He stood in front of Castiel, who rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Just saying, he's different to you. Shorter. British. Not as… nice…"

"Nice..?"

"Never mind. So what now?"

"Close your eyes," Dean did so, "and tell me whatever it is you want to tell him. Let's get all of this hostility, all of this confusion out in the open now, so that when you come to confront him, you can be clear, level-headed and determined."

"Ok."

"Ok. So imagine I am your partner, and just… let it all out."

"Well…" Dean's brow furrowed over his closed eyes, and Castiel was suddenly very aware of how close they were standing. And how easy it would be to pull themselves closer.

"Well?"  
>"I hate it. I hate us. I hate that you can confuse me like you do, and I know that you jerk me around for your own sick benefit but there's nothing I can do about it. And I guess I used to enjoy it, but it's always come with this sort of sick… wrongness. Like it's all a lie, and it's wrong, but I don't know what to do, and I never knew what I was supposed to do. And you preyed on that, 'cause you knew I'd never admit that someone had taken advantage of me. If I didn't hate you so much, I'd call you a goddamned evil genius."<p>

"So why did you continue our relations?"

Dean opened one eye and looked at Castiel.

"Relations?"

"I don' know how he speaks. Just… imagine."

"Alright…" Dean closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, taking another deep breath. "You… messed me up. I kept on hoping that we'd manage to do it right. I kept on hoping it would make sense. That's… that's why you're so damn cruel, you know? Because you'd give me just enough of a chance to hope, and then…" Dean gripped Castiel's arm, staring at the floor for a moment. Then, quickly, he pulled away, moving so he was against the opposite wall. "I don't want to do that any more. I feel stupid."

"But…" Castiel's head swam with the sudden absence of Dean, and he had to take a moment to regain his professional composure. "I think we made good progress …"

"No, OK? It's a stupid exercise. It was a dumb idea."

Castiel stared at Dean, who looked like he'd been assaulted, and nodded quietly. He sat behind his desk, looking very hard at his notes.

After a while, Dean returned to the chair behind Castiel's desk. He smiled nervously.

"So, uh… if I can't yell at him, can I punch him?"

"No. I think that would be very bad."

"Can I wait outside and cut his brake wires?"

"That would also be unwise."

"Well what if I just throw things at him?"

"Our time here is up."

"Oh come on… I'd let you punch him too. You said everyone has unresolved anger, right?"

"Goodbye, Mr. Winchester."

Dean stood, smirking as he saw the corners of Castiel's mouth crease in amusement.

"Later, Doc."

The door swung shut behind him, and Castiel grudgingly let himself smile. It was slightly annoying that the smile didn't stop for his next two clients. It got frustratingly more intense when Becky delivered a single chocolate chip muffin to him, with the note "I couldn't remember what you ordered at the fast food place, but I figured everyone likes muffins, right? Sorry for being a dick- Dean".

Becky smirked at him. Castiel blushed and shut himself in his office, the door slowly swinging closed as she called after him:

"You told me we were supposed to be professional!"

Castiel stuck his head back around the door, indignation on his face.

"We are professional. I, for one, took a Hippocratic oath and it would be an abuse of that to commence flirting with a patient."

"So you want me to hold any other baked goods he fed-exes for you?"

"Yes, thank you, Rebecca."

The door closed again.

"It's still Becky!"

(-*-)

Castiel watched Dean enter the office with the same cold assessment that he always did, his ice blue eyes surveying him with quiet ambivalence.

"Good morning, Dean. How are you today?"

Dean sat in the chair, the same as he always did, but it felt different. Bigger. Like he was shrinking even as he sat in it, the room becoming a gaping cavern of well lit, ergonomic furniture, with Castiel watching over it all. Dean shrunk.

"I'm ok."He shrugged slightly, trying to avoid his gaze. "Little tense."

"Why? You're tense, Dean. Ashamed, maybe. Why? What have you done that makes you feel so wrong in your own skin?"

"I dunno…"

"I think you do." Castiel wandered around the edge of the desk, his eyes still fixed on Dean. "I think you're lying."

"I'm not lying!"

"John said you were lying."

"My dad? How was he…"

"He was here to take Becky on a date. But that's irrelevant. Let's not talk about him, let's talk about you. Why are you lying?"

"I'm not lying, Cas, I…"

"Not to me." Castiel sighed, shooting Dean a withering glare before grabbing his shoulders. Dean was suddenly on his feet. He didn't remember standing up. Then the window was gone, and light and air and noise was pooling in, filling the room, surrounding them. Castiel was still staring into his eyes, but softer now, more gentle. "Let me show you."

And then they were kissing, tongues down each other's throats, hands fisting in each other's hair, clothes almost melting away from each other as, in the haze of light and air and noise, they let their fears and predispositions be forgotten as they became one continuous tangle of limbs, breathing the same breath, sharing passion-heated air…

"DEAN! You're going to be late, and I don't want Bobby screwing at me." Dean started awake as Sam threw a shoe at him. Dean managed to penetrate the confusing dream fug long enough to glare angrily at his brother.

"Ow. Is that how you wake your boyfriend?"

"Dean, if I woke you the way I woke Gabriel, I could be arrested. Speaking of which, dude, sheets." Sam rolled his eyes in disgust as he left Dean's room, leaving Dean to scramble to cover his morning-related shame. Stupid confusing sex dreams. Shaken, and more than a little aware of how awkward this would make the counselling session he had later that day. Not to mention how freaking weird it would make seeing Crowley that evening. Because, he realised, as he trudged to the bathroom with the grim, determined, horror of a man on death row, tonight would be the night he ended things with Crowley once and for all.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean felt incredibly out of place in the artfully lit restaurant. He looked imploringly across the table at Castiel (who of course seemed right at home in his suit and tie). Dean really wished he'd dressed smarter.

"He's not here yet. Can't we move it some place else?"

"No, Dean. Relax." Castiel placed a calming hand on Dean's shoulder and stared into his eyes. "You are fine here. This restaurant is neutral ground, neither of you will have the upper hand. It will make for a fair, mutual discussion."

Dean still looked indecisive.

"You are just as entitled to be here as any other person."

Dean looked up, knocking Castiel for six with a timid smile.

"Thanks, Cas. I'm so glad you're here. It helps to have someone I can trust, you know?"

Castiel balked slightly at that word. Hoping he hadn't visibly done anything to distress Dean, he smiled and stood.

"Yes. Excuse me, I… need to use the facilities." Castiel strode quickly across the lavishly decorated restaurant and ducked into the men's bathroom. He gripped the sink with both hands and stared at himself in the mirror.

What did he think he was doing?

He had known for some time now that he was attracted to Dean, and here he was luring the man away from what could ostensibly become a healthy relationship.

Yes, Gabriel and Pamela had both told him that it was excusable behaviour, yes they'd both reassured him that he wasn't technically doing anything immoral, but Castiel knew better than anyone that their definitions of "moral" were loose. Had he suggested Dean and his man, whoever the man be, attempt counselling? Had he suggested Dean take a different form of therapy to cope with the concept of his sexuality? No. He was in a faux French restaurant, helping him sever his attachments in the hope that he might turn to Castiel for more than friendship. He was a bad counsellor.

Still, he clung to the fact that he had sat in his brother's bachelor apartment, a glass of wine pressed into his hands, while Gabriel had told him it was perfectly acceptable. Pamela had even gone as far as saying it was a good deed. And Pamela wouldn't lie. He'd been her friend for the better part of fifteen years; she wouldn't lie to him.

He felt terrible. He was consciously choosing to ignore his own moral obligations, considering not only attempting to encourage romantic relations with a patient, but with one who was clearly emotionally vulnerable and who, worst of all, trusted Castiel as an advisor and confidante.

No, actually, that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was that he didn't really care.

He wanted Dean, and the more his rational mind told him it was wrong, the more his impulsive, emotional mind came up with ways to ignore his moral compass. He glared at himself in the mirror. Taking a few deep breaths, Castiel stared deep into the eyes of his reflection, and spoke in a hoarse, quiet whisper.

"It doesn't matter what you want. This is not about you. This is about him. He needs a friend, and a confidante. Your needs are irrelevant. Treat them as such until the patient is better."

It may not have been healthy, but it was the only way he knew how to deal with it.

(-*-)

In the main body of the 'Couers de Couers' restaurant, meanwhile, Dean was nervously picking at one of the soft white napkins. Everything on the table was soft and white, except for his beer, and at this point he honestly wasn't sure which was really soothing him. He was getting agitated, so much so that whenever he cast a glance around the restaurant he kept thinking he saw people he knew. He shook aside the idea and focused on remembering what he was going to say.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering the relaxation techniques Castiel had taught him.

And not at all remembering the sex dream.

Or the weird urge he'd had to kiss Castiel when they'd been going through that stupid role play exercise in his office.

Or the fact that he had almost used the "L" word to describe why Crowley managed to mess him up so much. Not that he was in love with Crowley, but he kept almost feeling like he was, and it confused him.

"Dean?" The familiar voice made him jump a little. Dean forced an awkward smile and stood, extending his hand to Crowley.

"Hey."

Crowley looked curiously at the extended hand, but shook it all the same. Dean mentally ticked step one off of his list; clearly defined physical boundaries.

"Well, this is… new." Crowley looked around the restaurant as he sat in the chair opposite Dean. "I have to say, it's nice to get a change from the routine, but…"

"Look, cut the small talk. I've got something to say, and I want to just… say it." Dean looked down at the table, drumming his fingers awkwardly against the table top as he desperately tried to remember the way Castiel had helped him word his speech. "You and me, uh, I… have both had… well, we've been doing this stupid on-and-off thing for a while now, and it's not right. It's… it's not fair on either of us, and I feel that…"

Castiel walked quickly towards the table, and Dean practically sagged with relief, just at the idea of having some moral support close at hand. However, he seemed to slow as he realised there was someone else at the table, eventually stopping dead when he reached Dean's shoulder.

"Crowley?"

"Castiel." Crowley blinked up at him, looking quite amused. "What a small world. Here with some lucky date, no doubt? Have you met Mr Winchester? He's an ex-student of…"

"Yes." Castiel said, his curt tone losing a little definition through his obvious confusion. "Yes, we've met. He's actually… I'm his counsellor. I've been helping him deal with… I should go."

"No, Cas, please." Dean was staring at Crowley, as the full impact of the situation sank into the group like a sudden deluge of very awkward rain. "Do you know each other?"

"Yes." Crowley straightened his cuffs and rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the awkwardness. "We were actually involved at one point. Much like you and I, Dean."

"Bullshit." Dean scowled, looking from Castiel to Crowley. "You and…"

"Dean, I had no idea it was…"

"Yes." Crowley said again, standing. "Well, I think we all get the idea. Crowley's a bad man, no one wants anything to do with him. I'll just be…"

"You bastard." Dean stood, indignant fury sparking and spreading through him like fire. He jabbed a finger at Crowley. "You mean to say you've been dicking both of us around?"

"Yes, although I would have worded it slightly differently." Crowley shot a winning smile at Castiel, who almost physically retreated from it.

"How long?" Dean growled, glaring at Crowley. Crowley just raised an eyebrow at him. Dean was not impressed. "How long have you been playing us?"

Crowley thought for a moment, before shrugging again.

"With him, four years or so, off and on. With you… About two, three? Hard to say."

"So what are we, week A and week B?"

"Again, essentially right, but I would have worded it…"

"You bastard. You've been playing us."

"Yes. And now I've quite clearly been rumbled, so I'll take my leave."

"I should beat you to a goddamn pulp."

"Dean, that's enough." Castiel rested a hand on his shoulder, but Dean shrugged him off and turned to Crowley.

"How can you stand there and just accept this?" His voice was rising dangerously, and people at the surrounding tables were starting to watch. "How can you just stand there and not even try to defend what you did?"

"Because I don't care." Crowley shrugged. "Neither of you meant anything to me, other than a decent lay once or twice a week. I thought I'd made that clear…"

"So you have no problem screwing with us? Not even to people like him?" He pointed at Castiel, who was trying to recover his dignity under the judging glares from nearby tables.

"Dean…"

"Who, by the way, is too nice a guy to ever call you on being the goddamn bastard that you are, and who a scumbag like you didn't even deserve in the first place."

"Dean. That's enough." Castiel spoke quietly, but his voice resonated with the sort of power that only wounded pride can generate. He fixed Dean with a forceful stare, his blue eyes cold and rounded with hurt. "I think we should go. We can discuss this more at our next session."

Dean shot one more glare at Crowley, clearly wanting to stay and fight, but after a tense pause, he nodded and let Castiel lead him from the restaurant. They were almost out of earshot when Crowley called after them;

"Enjoy dealing with the closet case, Castiel. I'm sure he'll fill all those lovely little Daddy issues for you."

Castiel stopped dead, seemingly composing himself. Dean saw, in that instant, the full extent of the pain Crowley had caused Castiel flicker across his face. Cas could deny, could distance it, but Dean wasn't about to see a good man get hurt.

He spun on his heel, marched over to Crowley, punched him so hard that he crumpled against the table, and grabbed the leather jacket he had almost forgotten. Then he marched right on out of the Couers de Couers restaurant, vowing to himself that he would never go back in there.

Castiel caught up to Dean when he was halfway across the car lot.

"Dean."

"No."

"Dean!"

"Leave me alone, Cas."

"Dean, we need to talk about this…"

"Why?" Dean spun around to face him, hoping he didn't look as bad as he felt, but half resigned to the idea that he probably did. "Why do we have to talk? What is there to even talk about? We both got screwed over, by the same guy no less. You know, I thought talking to you would help me because we had two sides of the same problem. I was stupid. It doesn't work. It doesn't help."

"It can help, Dean. I can help. It just takes time…"

"We're the blind leading the blind, Cas!" Dean was shouting, and only getting more annoyed that Castiel wasn't shouting back. "I mean, ok, you can brush yourself off and carry on with life, but I can't even begin to figure out why that hurt me so much…"

In a sudden movement, Castiel had grabbed Dean's jaw and was forcing the taller man to look at him.

"You presume me happy? You think, because I'm not screaming and throwing punches, that I'm not just as hurt, as… as betrayed as you are? I put my everything in to the lost cause of hoping I could win that man's heart the way he won mine, and now I find that he never even intended more than the most physical of connections. You are an intelligent man, Dean, or at least I considered you one. Don't sully my image of you by reacting like a common animal."

Castiel let go of Dean's jaw, and seemed just as stunned as Dean was by the sudden outburst. His phone rang, and he answered it almost without thinking.

"Hello?"

He heard Gabriel's voice, and a curious amount of background noise.

"Castiel. So, its seven thirty, didn't you say Dean was meeting mystery guy at seven? What happened? The suspense is killing me!"

"Gabriel… I really do not wish to talk about it…" he glanced at Dean, who seemed o be calming himself down.

"But Murdock and I want to know!"

"I… There was an… altercation." Castiel placed a hand on Dean's arm, silently entreating him to stay. Dean dragged his eyes up to meet Castiel's and he nodded.

"What? You mean like a fight? Why?"

"Gabriel…"

"What?"

Castiel sighed, regretting having answered the phone at all.

"I knew the man Dean was involved with. I had… been in a similar situation with him, in fact."

"Wait, whoa…Are you saying that… your mystery guy, and Dean's mystery guy…"

"Yes." Castiel had to restrain himself from throwing his phone on the ground and stamping on it. "Now please, Gabriel, I can't talk. Goodbye." He hung up the phone and smiled weakly at Dean, who most emphatically didn't smile back. He realised his hand was still on Dean's arm, and he retracted it awkwardly. Dean looked at him with tired, hurt eyes.

"It's normal to feel this shit, right? After something like that?"

"'Normal' would imply this situation was a regular occurrence." Castiel smiled weakly. "But I believe you are within your rights to feel…"

"Like shit?" Dean supplied. Castiel nodded.

"Yes. I believe that is the perfect summary of your feelings. And… and mine." He sighed, and ran a hand over his face.

"So this really couldn't have gone worse, huh?"

"Well… the restaurant could have caught fire."

Dean gave a sharp bark of laughter, before pulling his car keys out of his pocket.

"I think I should go home."

"That's probably wise."

"Need a lift?"

"No, I'm within walking distance of my apartment. Thank you, though."

"Don't mention it. And, uh… thanks." Dean smiled, as he started walking towards his car. "For… you know, everything. See you on Monday?"

"Of course." Castiel smiled, watching Dean walk away. Maybe he wasn't such a bad counsellor after all.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean stared at the steering wheel of the impala, not quite ready to get out of the car and face life.

Shit.

He kind of didn't want to do it.

But, that was it, right? He'd done the thing. Crowley was no more, number deleted off his phone and everything. That was what he'd gone into counselling to do. And he'd done it. End of.

And any reluctance to do what he had to do now… well, that was just reluctance to part with this part of his routine. Nothing to do with the black haired, blue eyed psychologist who Dean sometimes imagined for no reason other than wishing he could be there.

Because that would be gay, and Dean's not gay, so it's clearly nothing to do with it.

He got out of the car, the gleaming, sleek 67 Chevvy Impala with an engine that ran like a dream and tired that he should probably replace soon, because you don't want the tread to wear out. Cars, he thought, as he entered the building and took the stairs to Castiel's office. Cars cars cars.

When he made it up to Castiel's office, he was greeted with a sight that instantly made all of his intestines try to hide behind his stomach. Stomach told them they could fuck right off because it was freaked enough without looking after them. Brain just heaved a weary sigh and barked something about a polite smile.

Becky was sobbing and sniffing to herself, her usually neat hair messy and only half in its ponytail, her eyes puffy and red.

"Uh… Hi. Becky."

"Oh! Mr Winchester. I'm so sorry, I'm all…" She tried to make herself presentable and act like she hadn't been crying, which made Dean feel even more uncomfortable. He crossed over to the desk awkwardly, trying to appear friendly and like the sight of crying women wasn't something that made him want to disappear into the earth's crust.

"Hey, no, it's… it's cool, I'm a little early. Um… What's… is there a problem, or..?"

Becky sniffed for a moment, looking like she was seriously debating pretending that everything was fine, before breaking into fresh sobs.

"M-m-m-my boyfriend…. D-d-d… dumped me!" She sounded like he'd reached in through her throat and squeezed her heart 'til it burst. She probably felt that way too, and Dean could relate to that.

"I'm, uh… I'm sorry to hear that. You… do you want to… talk?"

"He said I only liked him for his stories. Can you believe that? He accused me of liking his stories more than I like him, and yeah, maybe I think they're the best thing he's ever done but… but…"

"Hey, Becky, calm down." Dean rested an awkward hand on her shoulder, really wishing he knew anything at all about this girl, other than "she works for Castiel". He trailed through his brain, desperately looking for tired clichés.

"And… and Doctor DiAngelo's no help… h-h-he just said… said I 'over-romanticised' what an author's…. what an author's supposed to be like and… and… 'fed the natural inadequacy complex most artists start out from'… I mean… what does that even mean?"

Dean sat back a little, glancing at Castiel's door. Figures the guy would psychoanalyse her problem instead of just patting her on the head and quoting every romantic comedy ever. Dean thought of Sam. Sam was a big girly pain in his ass.

What would Sam do?

"Becky… Don't let Cas get to you. He means well, he just… that's his way of trying to help. Look, your boyfriend, he's… he probably thinks his books are shit, right?"

Becky sniffed thoughtfully, before nodding her little, troubled head.

"So you telling him they're awesome… to you, you're saying he's awesome too. To him, you're saying that's the only good thing he's done."

"But… but that's not what I meant! I just…"

"Hey, woah. I know, ok? I get that, but… Just… ok, think about it this way; if you've got… one thing that you did, that you were proud of, but you knew you could do it better, and someone came along and said that that was the best thing you'd ever done, would you be happy just like that?"

"No…"

"So… you see how there's a misunderstanding, right?"

"Yeah… do you… do you think I should call him?"

"Sure. And tell him he's awesome."

"Yeah… yeah, I'll… I'll do that." She grabbed the phone, already punching numbers in. Dean smiled, feeling a little pleased with himself. There was a quiet cough from the doorway behind him, and Castiel smiled at Dean's embarrassment.

"Good morning, Dean. Shall we begin? That is, if you're quite finished here."

Dean flashed his embarrassed smile around the room once more, before ducking his head and proceeding quickly into Castiel's office.

"You know…" Castiel closed the office door, still quietly smiling, "it may be inappropriate, but I find it amusing you have the ability to help Rebecca confront emotions you cannot face in yourself. Perhaps there is something o be learned there."

"Yeah… maybe." Dean scratched the back of his neck, not quite able to meet Castiel's eye. "So… Crowley, huh?"

"Yes… that was… unexpected." Castiel dropped his quiet smile, before rolling his shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug. "We are both better for having left him, clearly."

"I guess." He scuffed his feet on the floor, looking around the office as if hoping to see some new thing, or notice something that he hadn't seen before (a hopeless task; he could probably draw the damn place blindfold). Eventually, he dragged his eyes up and held out his hand. Castiel stared at it for a moment, uncertain.

"Thanks for everything, Doc." Dean prompted, giving him an almost shameful smile. "I, uh… I guess we're done here."

There was, for a brief instant, what Dean thought might have been hurt or disappointment racing through Castiel's eyes. No, he was imagining it. Or… or, he wasn't because why would he want to see Cas disappointed at the idea? Or at all. He didn't care about Cas, not like that. Sure the guy was nice and they got on well, and he kind of counted him as a friend more than anything, and yet here he was breaking off, well, not 'breaking off' because that's the sort of thing you say about proper romantic relationships which this totally wasn't and which Dean wouldn't want anyway because Cas was a man and Dean wasn't into men because he liked cars and beer and sports, and he wondered what the new line up was for Stanford, and remembered they were playing that day and oh god Cas was talking, looking at him with an emotion in his eyes that Dean did not have the current capacity to comprehend and he had to say something now because he'd totally not listened and he didn't want to look like a total dick-

"D'you like ice hockey?"

Castiel blinked at him, cocking his head to one side in a mannerism that Dean had become familiar with.

"That is something of a non-sequitur… I cannot say I've ever watched a game."

"Never?" Dean liked that. He could focus on that. "You're deprived, man. Come on, there's a game going on in, like, a half hour; if we leave now we could probably get in."

Castiel seemed torn for a moment.  
>"I would feel better if we were to discuss your feelings towards…"<p>

"Can't we discuss it when we get there?"

Dean grinned at Cas, seeing his resolve crumbling. Eventually, Castiel nodded, and they slipped past Becky (who was still animatedly professing her love to whatever poor sap was on the other end of her phone line) and down to the car park.

(-*-)

The rink was loud with the general bustle of crowds; a strange mid temperature that was cold for the ice, but warm from such a presence of people. Dean sat down next to Castiel with a bag of salted nuts and a hot dog. Had Castiel been a lesser man (say, his brother, Gabriel), he would have asked if Dean would like a cigar with his subconscious innuendo, but he wasn't and he didn't. He just let Dean relax in the pliable plastic seating.

"Love ice hockey, man. Nothing beats the atmosphere. Right after me and Sam moved out here, we came to see every game we could. It was…" Dean stopped himself.

Castiel looked at him, eyes sharp. Dean shrugged, not feeling all that encouraged.

"Please, Dean, tell me."

"Forget it."

"Dean, we are outside of the office. You can consider me a friend." Castiel watched him a moment more, before sighing and relenting. "I promise, whatever it is you share, I will do my best to reciprocate with information about myself."

Dean was intrigued.

"Alright… This was how me and Sam dealt with Dad's death. He died not long before we moved out here. We hadn't lived with him in years, but he… he used to visit us. Check in. it meant… when he died, I guess we finally got to let go, you know? Move on."

Castiel nodded.

"My parents disowned my brother and I when we each… 'came out'. Gabriel suffered the brunt of their emotions, but I… I was already somewhat overlooked as the youngest, least… we shall say, the least extroverted of my brothers."

"Always the quiet ones, huh?"

"Yes. I haven't spoken to any of my family, save Gabriel and a cousin who lives in England, for… possibly the better part of ten years."

"Family stinks." Dean nodded, as the game kicked off. It was fast paced and intoxicating; Castiel couldn't help getting caught up in Dean's excitement. Castiel laughed.  
>"I admit…" he yelled, over the roar of the crowd, "I've never been one for sports before. But I can see why you enjoy this."<p>

"It's killer, right?" Dean laughed back, telling himself that his breath was catching because of the cold, and not because of how close they were to each other. "This is great, you know, since Sam's started spending so much time with your brother… I've missed hanging out with him, you know?"

"It must be nice to be…" Castiel flinched as two of the players face-planted against the ice. "To… be so close to your brother."

"Yeah. I mean, gets a little tired at times. So busy looking after him, that I…"

"What?"

"No, it's stupid. Forget it."  
>"That you're worried who's going to look after you?" Castiel finished, giving him a knowing look as the buzzer went for half time. Dean nodded, meekly.<p>

"Is it that obvious?"

"No, it's perfectly normal. Although. Perhaps taking it so personally…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dean, you had to be coerced into admitting you needed my help. To want to appear strong for the sake of a younger sibling is understandable, but Sam knows you are not inhuman. You, on the other hand, seem to think otherwise."

"What, that I'm inhuman or that Sam doesn't know it?"

"You tell me."

Dean scowled at Castiel and sat back in his seat, not liking the way Castiel was looking at him. Castiel, as if to prove his point, did likewise. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the arm rest. It was the slightest, most fleeting of contacts, but there it was, sending electricity darting across Dean's skin. And, accordingly, he jumped a foot in the air like someone had hit him with a cattle-prod.

"I, uh… have to use the bathroom."

He practically fled.

Castiel nodded, stared down at the empty ice rink, and bit back the urge to curse. Dean was an utterly frustrating man, composed entirely of mixed signals and loaded suggestions, all wrapped up in an unfairly irresistible package. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe he could never be friends with Dean. Maybe it would just drive both of them insane.

Sure enough, when Dean returned, he was back to being brash and over-compensating. It frustrated Castiel no end, seeing him retreat within layers upon layers of denial and self-doubt. Eventually, by the time the game ended, Castiel had taken about all he could, and it was the fifteenth brotherly punch to his arm that finally made him snap.

"Goodbye Dean." He said, as he headed towards the bus stop.

"Don't you want a lift?"

"No, thank you, I know where I'm going."

"Oh… Well, hey, I, uh, wanted to ask. You know you gave me your number? Do you think it would be ok if we hung out some time?"

"I don't know, Dean." Castiel sighed, as the bus pulled up in front of him. "Why don't you ask yourself?"

Dean stared at him for a moment.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean…" Castiel turned on him, one foot on the bus and the other on the sidewalk, "there's no point getting to know someone else if you don't first know yourself. I helped you return to a safe space, a safe mentality, and I ask no thanks for that. But your next step is facing yourself, and I don't think I can help you."

"What the hell's gotten into you?" Dean barked, his defences on high alert.

"I'm tired, Dean." Castiel glanced at him as he reached into his pocket for change. "I'm tired of always looking at the wrong person in the wrong way." Castiel stepped further into the bus, and the door swung shut on Dean's protests of confusion. Mentally kicking himself, he stormed back to his car. He started the engine, listening to the quiet revs and feeling them soothe him as some are soothed by whale song or white noise. Then, calmed and inspired, he took his phone out of his pocket.

On the bus, Castiel quietly fumed to himself. His phone vibrated with a quiet but clear demand for attention, and he answered it irritably. The display flashed with a message from Dean.

"I know I'm not superman or anything. And I know you're not, either. Although when you get mad, you kind of talk like you're from outer space, so the jury's still out on "inhuman"."

Castiel found himself fighting back a smile, weary in the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help, and distressed in the knowledge that he wished he could, but amused, over all, and unable to fight the creeping sensation that his attraction might be more than fleeting.


	8. Chapter 8

Stomping up the stairs to his and Sam's apartment, Dean was more than a little disgruntled. Castiel was confusing. And it didn't help that, whenever he tried to befriend the guy, he started talking like Sherlock Holmes. Cas was constantly…

He always sounded like…

He was Cas, Dean amended, as he found his keys and pushed the front door open, trying to push back the memory of the hockey game until he had the energy to really make sense of it.

When he stepped into his apartment, he saw a short guy with brown hair stumbling into a pair of shoes.

"Oh." Said Dean, mentally running through the catalogue of people who should be in his apartment and becoming slightly worried when he failed to find the face he was looking at.

"Oh." The guy agreed, looking just as awkward as Dean felt. Dean had a feeling he should probably try for words.

"Hi."

The guy gaped at him silently for a moment, before picking up on the idea of talking.

"Hi. I was told you were… elsewhere. It's Dean, right? Gabriel." So saying, the guy held out his hand. "I was… uh…"

"Here with Sam." Dean finished, his brain clicking back on track with a noticeable lurch. Gabriel was Sam's boyfriend. He was also Castiel's brother. This wasn't awkward at all. He gave the smaller man a once-over. Sam had said he was short, but Jesus… He might have to get Sam one of those shiatsu neck pillows for Christmas. Still, Gabriel looked good for thirty five, he supposed. Nothing like Castiel, though. Dean couldn't see what Sam saw in the guy. Speaking of, Dean thought:

"Where is he?"

"He's just… in the bathroom." Gabriel gestured vaguely, before looking like he hoped the ground would split open beneath his feet.

"Oh." Dean nodded, knowing exactly what the pregnant pause meant and really hoping he could get through the conversation without getting any gory details concerning this stranger and his brother at home alone. "So… I hear you're coming to Thanksgiving dinner with us."

"Yeah." Gabriel forced a smile. "From what Sam's told me, it should be fun."

Dean recalled the stories he had heard from Castiel, concerning exactly what Gabriel thought was 'fun'. He was a prankster, and he liked to mess with people, create scenes. Cas had hurried to amend that his brother was a nice man, but that didn't mean Dean was comfortable with him describing the people he loved as "fun." Gabriel seemed to pick up on this, and began backtracking with a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

"I mean, it'll be great to meet Sam's family at last. He's already met most of my important people, so… you know, seeing where he came from will, uh…"

"No." Dean shook his head, glaring at Gabriel. He was tired. He'd spent all day playing mind games with Cas, and now he was being told what Gabriel presumed he wanted to hear. He was so tired of constant bullshit that, with one final glance over Gabriel's worried features, his body language and the general air he conducted himself with, Dean let fly. "You don't want to do it. I can tell, you're not the kind of guy who does the whole family thing."

Gabriel was only taken aback for a moment, before dropping his pretence gladly. He looked at Dean as an equal.

"No. I'm like you that way, right? Enough troubles of my own, don't want to get muddled up in a whole new universe. More people, more problems, am I right? But Sam wants me to meet them, and I get that it's important to him. If it's important to him, it's important to me. That's where we stand."

Dean stared at him. What worried him most was that it connected with him so much. 'More people, more problems'… Was he really so straight forward? He smirked, reassuring Gabriel that his gamble paid off.

"That's where we stand."

The bathroom door unlocked with a clunk, cutting through Dean's thoughts, and revealing a towel, behind which stood a very naked Sam. Sam didn't see Dean straight away.

"Hey Gabe? I've got the afternoon free. Do you want to hang out some more? We could stick a DVD on and not watch it…" Then he spotted his brother. Then he made a hasty retreat. Gabriel was fighting back the urge to laugh, as was Dean.

Dean let the couple go about their business, which was mostly Sam chivvying Gabriel away before they could exchange any more awkward pleasantries. The apartment abandoned once more, Dean slumped back on the couch and covered his eyes. Sam seemed pretty set. Gabriel didn't seem that bad a guy… sure, if he ever hurt Sam, Dean would punch his nose right off his face. But Sam was big and ugly enough to take care of himself, Dean guessed.

Castiel's words still resounded in his skull.

"_Your next step is facing yourself."_

He didn't want to face himself. He wasn't even sure who he was. That was probably telling.

What was worse was that he wanted to talk to Cas about it, but he knew that, for whatever reason, Cas was getting tired of him. Probably getting tired of dumbing everything down for him, Dean thought. But… if there was one thing you should tell your shrink about, it's that you're starting to see yourself as a different person, right? Like, an alter-ego. That's something you should tell a shrink… hell, a friend. Cas was probably fed up of Dean, dumb little Dean, running around in circles. Muscle-head Dean the great lumbering ox, stomping into Castiel's executive office and bitching about his problems.

He couldn't talk to Cas. Not until he'd done something to make him proud, and Dean had a feeling that would never happen.

(-*-)

Castiel stared at his windswept surroundings. A forest stretched down the hill to his right. Ahead of him, and technically underneath him, steel-coloured waves crashed against the cliff face. The salty wind tore at his face, pulling at his scruffy mop of dark hair, washing away whatever confusion he'd had. He was at peace here. Alone.

"Castiel!" He could hear his cousin calling, running up to him. Balthazar was only a year or two older, but he was cooler, more mature. He drank and smoked and snuck out after curfew. Or so Gabriel said. But Gabriel lied. And Gabriel wasn't around any more.

"Cassie, get away from the edge." Balthazar had picked up on the nickname his mother gave him, and he didn't like it. "If you fall off that cliff, Aunt Eve is going to kill me."

"I won't fall." He muttered, his voice raw from underuse; the embarrassing mid-pubescent quake had left him of the opinion that he would just stay silent until he graduated high school.

"What are you doing out here? Mother set up a play-date for you with some of the local boys… Anna's friends, I think."

"I don't like Anna. I don't like England. I like being on my own. And right now, I don't like you, either, so please leave me alone."

Balthazar blinked, taken a little aback. He nodded, thoughtfully, before sitting down on the grass beside him and taking a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Who do you like?"

Castiel said nothing, staring bluntly out at the horizon. Balthazar let the silence sit for a moment.

"Raphael?"

"Raphael's dead. Makes no difference."

"Gabriel?"

Castiel stayed silent.

Balthazar nodded.

"He's not gone forever. You can still call…"

"How do you know?" Castiel said, still scrutinising the horizon as though his answer might suddenly appear in a scrolling, heavenly banner.

"How do I know what?"

Castiel turned on his heel. Balthazar wasn't there any more. He was Martin Pickett now, a boy from Castiel's class in school. His hair was golden brown, his eyes were muddied hazel and his lips were a delicate pink as he clung to Castiel's shirt, locked in a clumsy, tipsy, frightened first kiss.

That was it. No going back.

Castiel woke, the image of the English cliff and the imagined taste of his first love still fresh in his mind. He was very glad he was not the sort of psychiatrist to put stock in dreams, because he knew for a fact that, in reality, Martin Picket's eyes, hair and lips had not looked as much like Dean Winchester's as his subconscious had suggested. In reality, Martin Pickett had been cursed with eyes like a swamp and hair like a used scrub brush. Dean, on the other hand…

No, Castiel commanded himself, as he pulled himself out of bed. No thinking about unfairly attractive patients who can't get a hold of themselves. His advice to Dean applied just as much to himself. You can't hope to know someone else before you know yourself. Castiel had to stop putting all his eggs into one metaphorical, dysfunctional and erratically responsive basket. Dean had not spoken to him for the better part of two weeks, and so was clearly moving on with his life. That was the end of it.

He switched on his phone to reveal a text from Dean. Practically able to hear his resolution scream as it withered and died, he opened the message. Castiel got the strange feeling that it may have been sent while somewhat inebriated.

"Casp u apqe a gpqeat guy butdo ou hmnnstly thimnk thepqapy can wopqk 4gme? I wamot to do it amnd I wamot tomake ou ppqoud."

Castiel stared at it for a moment, entertaining the idea that Dean may seriously be trying to confuse him on purpose. He stared at each word, trying to decode the typing errors. There was a frantic knocking at his door, and he answered it to reveal Gabriel looking suitably distressed.

"Castiel, I'm freaking out."

He shoved past his brother, and began pacing.

"Good morning."

"You're my sponsor. Sponsor me."

"I've just woken up, Gabriel. You'll need to be more specific."

"Thanksgiving! The big Thanksgiving dinner with Sam's family! I'm screwed. I'm going to mess up, I…"

"Gabriel." Castiel laid a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder, staring intently into his eyes. "You can do it. I would not have agreed to look after Murdock if you were less than capable of having a wonderful evening. You'll be fine."

"I'll be fine." Gabriel repeated, although he sounded doubtful. Castiel had a feeling distraction may have been a more useful tactic. "Can you decipher this message for me? I believe it was sent while drunk, and I know that you have more experience with such messages than I."

"Dork." Gabriel muttered, taking the phone from his brother and scrutinising the string of mistyped letters all the same. He scratched his cheek, thoughtfully. "Casp… Think that's meant to be Cas… who calls you Cas? Is this from Dean?" Gabriel gasped. "He has a pet name for you and everything! Have you nailed him yet?"

"Gabriel." Castiel tutted, professionally. Gabriel rolled his eyes and went back to the text.

"You are a… great guy, but do you… honestly think… Uh… oh, ok. 'Do you honestly think therapy can work for me? I want to do it and I want to make you proud'... Bless. Isn't he a big old closet case?"

"Gabriel, please stop being so utterly inappropriate."

"I didn't when the police asked me, what makes you think I'll listen to you… What's he talking about? Do what?"

"I don't know…" Castiel mused, putting aside the small dart of happiness that had raced through him when he'd heard the word 'proud'. "I would presume he means therapy."

"Maybe he's talking about coming out." Gabriel raised his eyebrows, chuckling. "He's clearing out his closet space for you."

"Get out of my house." Castiel commanded, before having his request thoroughly ignored and his breakfast ruined. It wasn't until an hour or so later, when Gabriel was halfway out the door, that Castiel's phone rang.

"Hello? Castiel DiAngelo's phone."

"Cas? Uh, hey."

"Dean." Castiel practically yelped, before shooing Gabriel out of the door. Gabriel had other plans, intent on overhearing the conversation. "What… what can I do for you?"

"I just… Did I drunk text you last night? I think I might have."

"Yes, I had… I had thought that was the… ow!" Castiel recoiled from his brother's pinching fingers, and gave up trying to force him out of the doorway.

"You alright?"

"Yes, just a… Small pain in my neck." Castiel spat, ignoring Gabriel's taunting pouts and mimes of kissing the air. "it is not important. What can I help you with?"

"I think I might need to see you." Dean started, his voice low and nervous. Castiel made frantic 'shh'ing motions at Gabriel, who stuck his tongue out and left. "Are you free… um… when are you free?"

"Whenever you need me, Dean. What is the problem?"

"My… my family's having a big Thanksgiving dinner next week. And… And I want to tell everyone. I want to… to say it."

Castiel felt his breath catch in his chest.

"Dean?"

"I want to tell everyone that… that I'm gay."


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel's throat was unhelpfully tight as he adjusted his grip on his phone, trying desperately to calm himself.

"You're sure?" He cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of the unprofessionally tense and excited tone. "Perhaps you should be speaking with Sam about this?"

"No. No, Sam can't… He's too… he's with Gabriel you know, he's all couple-y and happy and I need…" Dean trailed off, sounding exhausted. Castiel gripped the phone tighter to his ear, and nodded.

"We can meet in an hour, if you so wish. At the office?"

"Yeah. Thanks Cas, it… it means a lot."

"You're welcome." Castiel smiled, reluctant to hang up until he'd heard Dean's end of the line go dead. This was it. Finally, some progress. Dean was ready to admit, in a safe space, that he was gay. He was hoping to take steps towards telling his family, too. He trusted that, in the two and a half weeks until Thanksgiving, Castiel would be able to counsel him into the ability to share. This was definitely progress.

And a little pressure.

And, Castiel admitted to himself, inappropriately exciting. He dragged himself through the quickest shower and morning routine that he'd ever had, before swooping quickly across the street to his office. He had never been so glad to live close to work. He had got there even before Becky, and waited patiently in the reception for her. As soon as she came through the door, caught off guard by Castiel's unusually early presence, he walked briskly to his office.

"Hold all my calls and appointments. I have a very important meeting to hold. When Mr Winchester arrives, show him straight through."

"Oh," Becky grinned. "This is a Dean thing… have you nailed him yet?"

"Thank you, Rebecca."

"It's still Becky!" She called after him, finding her boss equal parts annoying and amusing.

(-*-)

Dean was flushed with an awkward smile, drumming his fingers against his thigh as Castiel helped him draw up a plan of what he wanted to say.

"So… what do gay people do? I mean… now I'm gay, what do I… I mean, I was always gay, but…"

"Being gay is not like being a vegetarian, Dean." Castiel smiled at him, finding Dean's childlike trepidation undeniably amusing. "There is no 'can' or 'cannot'. Your life is exactly the same, except now you don't have to hide your sexuality. You do whatever you always do, except now, you get to do it honestly, and hopefully with a man you care about."

Castiel watched Dean blush, apparently still getting used to the idea that Castiel was perfectly ok with whatever sexuality he chose. The blush was light pink, creeping up across his smooth skin, blotting out the faint, faded freckles that graced his cheeks, beneath those mossy green eyes…

Castiel needed to calm himself down, apparently.

"Now, this… what you'd like to say to your family, is there anything else you feel needs to be added?"

He handed the sheet of paper over to his client, and Dean scrutinised the overly neat lettering.

"This should be right… 'I'm thankful that I finally kicked a very bad relationship to the curb. I was with a guy who treated me bad, and I didn't have the confidence in myself to end it. But it was my friends and family who helped me through. And I want to thank Gabriel for introducing me to his brother, who… helped me with my issues…'" He looked up at Castiel, smiling at him with a sheepish but honest grin. Castiel nodded, reassuring Dean and gesturing for him to continue.

"And… I know that it's the loving support of my family and friends that will help me through this time. Because I want to say that… that I'm a homosexual."

"Good." Castiel nodded. "You don't seem too comfortable with it, though."

"It just… it's not the way I talk, you know?" Dean flashed another awkward smile before staring at his feet. "It sounds way too smart."

"You're an intelligent man, Dean. Those words came from you, I merely wrote them down…"

"Yeah, but you fixed them. Made them sound nice." Dean shrugged, folding the note and putting it in his pocket. "Forget it. It's no big deal. Look, I should probably get going, but I'll make an appointment for next week and… would you like to… as friends… you know, hang out some time?"

Castiel's higher reasoning screamed at him. No, no o this was not only unprofessional but a total violation of trust, not to mention an abuse of his position of authority, and Dean probably didn't even want anything romantic with Castiel anyway, so he really should just stay with his books and his hermetic life and let…

Except, cut in the voice that for some reason always sounded like Gabriel, if Dean really didn't want anything romantic with Castiel, then there'd be no harm in going out for a drink or two. Not to mention how therapeutic it could be for Dean to see his counsellor as a person, not a title.

Higher reasoning told the inner Gabriel that that really wasn't the point ant he knew it.

The inner Gabriel asked exactly what the point was.

Higher reasoning was so tied up in its own logic that it couldn't speak.

Castiel smiled up at Dean.

"I'd like that. We'll organise something soon."

(-*-)

Dean sat on the couch, sucking air in through his teeth. Sam was spending the night with Gabriel, which meant Dean was in the apartment on his own.

Sam was spending a lot of time with Gabriel lately, and Dean really didn't want to think about it any more than that.

So what was Dean going to do?

He could finish reading that Ian Banks book that Sam had got him for his birthday.

He could watch a movie.

He could log on to Sam's Xbox live account and turn his little avatar dude into a dudette.

Or he could put his hands down his pants and refuse to admit that he was thinking about Cas.

Nah, he thought, he'd done all that already. Apart from finishing the book. And the movie. And it was still only nine p.m. Fuck it, he decided, he was apparently a masochist as well as a homosexual. He grabbed his coat, keys and phone, sent out a quick text to the number that his hand found almost without his being aware of it, and headed to a nearby bar.

It wasn't like Cas would even be seen dead in a place like that anyway, Dean thought. His local bar was decorated as if the guy who made sets for Cheers had lost his wife, kids and dog on the same day he'd gotten beaten up by some biker dudes for not paying protection money; dismal, dim, and it only looked good if you saw it through one eye.

Not the sort of place you saw suit-wearing, quiet intellectuals.

Except, apparently, Castiel liked to defy convention. In a quiet, intellectual sort of way.

When he arrived, he took off his trenchcoat and folded it over the back of the chair, smiling a greeting at Dean, before consciously checking himself.

"What?"

"What?" Dean asked back, blinking a little too rapidly to be casual. Castiel looked from Dean to his shirt, smiling awkwardly.

"You were staring at me."

"No I wasn't." Dean said, earning himself an arched eyebrow.

"Dean, I spend all day around people who lie pathologically. What makes you think I would believe you?"

Dean shrugged, hailing a server.

"Your tie's all… undone. It's weird. You're… not office-y."

It was true. Castiel had pulled his tie loose, and opened his shirt to the collar bone, the effect of which meant that for some reason Dean couldn't stop staring at the pale, exposed skin of Castiel's neck. He blinked as the server put down two beers in front of them, and stared at that instead.

"I'm actually surprised that you asked me to join you," Castiel said, tasting the beer like he was some sort of connoisseur (he probably was, thought Dean, since Cas was apparently an expert on everything and that made him feel like an inch tall, and yes he was aware he'd swapped out one fundamental insecurity for another but fuck it, Cas said he was making progress and Cas would know), "given that you have an appointment tomorrow."

"I wanted some company." Dean shrugged. "I don't know anyone else good for conversation."

"I feel so appreciated." Cas said, his sarcasm still surprising Dean.

"Screw you." Dean advised, but not without smiling. "Drink, you need to catch up with me."

As if uttering some magic words, time suddenly seemed to jump forward, as they started talking about how their days had been, how their week had been, and how annoying both Sam and Gabriel were being in regards to the Thanksgiving dinner.

"I mean…" Cas composed himself, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. It was more to stop himself falling over than anything, but he still felt a slight thrill as he touched the warm cotton of Dean's shirt. "I mean, I love Gabriel. He's my brother. And Sam seems like a perfectly nice young man… but if I hear one more word about how nervous they are that they're going to embarrass each other, I will make them wish I'd never been born."

"You mean make them wish they'd never been born."

"I know what I mean."

Shit, thought Dean, Cas could be dark when he wanted. He laughed into his beer, smiling a warped, alcohol skewed smile.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

"No. Hell no. at this point I just might join you." Dean giggled into his beer. "You know how weird it is, seeing a seven foot tall twenty five year old moon about making puppy eyes?"

"Can't be weirder than seeing Gabriel act like a five year old…"

"It's sickening. Just because they're… in love…" Dean pulled a face, which made Cas dissolve into laughter. The barman shot some choice glares at them, before looking pointedly at the clock.

"Shit… Cas, we better move. Think this guy wants to close up."

"Oh…" Castiel looked up at the clock, swaying slightly as he stood. "Yes… I hadn't realised it was late."

"It's not so late…" Dean shrugged. "Dude, I've got a six pack at home, want to help me finish it?"

"I shouldn't." Castiel shook his head as he struggled into his trench coat. They started walking towards the door.

"Why not?"

"It would be unper… unprofessional."

"You can barely say it."

"Exactly! I should go home."

"No… come drink some more with me and talk. Please?" Although his eyes swam with intoxication, Dean levelled Castiel with a look of rare honesty. "I could really do with a friend right now."

Castiel, knocked off guard by the sudden honesty, found himself slowly nodding.

"Ok."

(-*-)

They took the beers up to the roof, but only after Dean had sworn Cas to secrecy. Sam had his own ways to relax… bubble baths, working out, generally acting like he was Bridget Jones… The roof was Dean's secret.

"It's amazing." Castiel gasped, looking out over the strings of distant light that, in the daytime, would be unremarkable streets and windows. In the dark, they looked like fallen stars.

"Yeah." Dean sat on the edge, his legs hanging over the side of the building. Hesitantly, Castiel joins him. Dean stares into the distance, and Castiel makes no effort to interrupt. Eventually, his thoughts seemed to find a way down to his mouth.

"How did you do it?"

"Hmm?"

"When you… no, forget it, I'm way out of line."  
>"No, what was it?"<p>

"Forget it."

"Dean." Castiel patted his arm, chinking their beer bottles together. "Whatever you ask, I won't be mad."

"When did you tell your parents? About… you know… being gay?"

"Ah…" Castiel shifted his weight, staring out at the horizon. Dean waved it aside.

"I shouldn't have asked. It was stupid. Out of line…"

"No, no, I want to tell you. You're a friend and… friends know things about each other." Castiel rolled his shoulders, squaring up to tell the story. "I… didn't exactly get to tell them. Gabriel did, and he went about it oddly well, all things considered. It was just the aftermath that he didn't cope so well with."

"Why didn't you get to tall them? They do know, right? I thought that was why you didn't speak to them."

"Yes, they know. I just…" Castiel rolled his shoulders, debating for a moment whether to delve into that particular memory. Dean's inquisitive eyes invited him to talk. "There was a boy. I had known since I was… probably about eleven. I had known there was something different about me. Gabriel came out when I was twelve, and… by the time I was fourteen, I knew for definite. I spoke with Gabriel… conspired, if you like…"

Castiel still remembered the phone calls, made in the dead of night, curled up underneath the table the phone was on, whispering into the receiver and fighting back terrified tears. Gabriel had assured him it wouldn't happen the same. They wouldn't yell and scream, wouldn't shut him out, wouldn't call people to drag him away to a correctional… Because Cas wasn't as stubborn as Gabriel. Never had been. They'd try to talk him out of it, they'd cry, but he'd be, ultimately, left to make his own choices.

"He told me what I should say, what I should do, but… I never got around to it. I put it off and put it off, until… One day they found me. My parents were visiting my school for… a sort of sports day, parent's day, call it what you will. I was very bad at sports, and I had faked an injury so I could sit in the changing rooms."

"Dark horse." Dean muttered, if only to break the tension. Castiel smiled, appreciatively, but couldn't bring his eyes away from the horizon.

"He was… his name was Martin Pickett. He wasn't a particularly good looking boy, but he was a friend, and… I loved him. He asked me if I was alright, said he'd noticed how tired I was. Was I sleeping alright. And I told him. I told him everything, about Gabriel's being disowned, Raphael's death… my parents… myself… and he held me. We… we kissed. It was… a fifteen year old's kiss, sloppy, nervous, but with an odd desperation. I remember exactly how it happened, every detail. But, then my father appeared, apparently he'd been told by the teacher that I was to be taken home if I couldn't compete. He saw me kissing Martin. And he left. I had to walk the half mile home, and when I got there, my possessions were all boxed and packed, waiting by the door. My father and mother were stood waiting for me, and gave me a simple ultimatum; either pretend it never happened and go about life as…'normal'…" he said the word with so much scorn, which was so unfamiliar with Castiel's voice. It sounded strange. "Or take whatever I had, take the money in my savings, and never go back. I went for the second option, took my things, and walked another half mile to the house Gabriel was staying in. They never tried to contact me. I think they blamed Gabriel for it. I know Gabriel feels that they did."

Dean stared at Castiel for a moment, processing the story.

"Wow. So… you haven't seen your family in… what, twenty years?"

"Fifteen, thank you, I'm not that old."

"Wow." Dean repeated, because he honestly didn't know what else to say. He lay an awkward hand on the other man's shoulder. "I'm sorry, man, that sucks."

"I've learned to live with it." Castiel shrugged, smiling sheepishly at Dean. "Although… it does mean I have become somewhat needy in terms of being reassured about a relationship."

"You and me both." Dean chuckled, relieved to see Cas wasn't about to break down in tears. "I mean… shit, dude, that's awful. When Sam told Bobby and Ellen… They'd kind of figured it out for themselves. Ellen offered to take him out somewhere and help him hook up."

"They sound like good people."

"They are."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Castiel patted Dean's arm reassuringly, before stumbling to his feet and away from the edge of the roof. "I should really get home."

"It is kind of late, huh?" Dean pulled himself up, and pulled open the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes." Castiel swayed slightly as he stood. "I won't accept this as an excuse for lateness."

"Yes sir." Dean gave a mock salute, guiding Castiel down the stairs into the body of the building. They chatted and laughed, although neither of them really knew what they were talking about, until they reached the front door of the apartment building.

"See you tomorrow." Dean repeated, leaning against one of the doors as Castiel pulled open the other.

"Good night." Castiel grumbled back, returning Dean's drunken smile. Dean, who couldn't help but find the smaller man adorable in his drunken state, leant in and kissed him, smiling all the time. Or had Cas leant up to Dean? It didn't really matter, he supposed.

"Night." He smiled, before starting up the stairs. Castiel pulled the door open and started out into the night air.

Curiously enough, both men made it exactly nine paces before they realised exactly what had just happened. Both of them swore into the otherwise silent night, and spent the rest of the night wracked with guilt.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel was a bad psychiatrist.

Not just in the fact that last night he had kissed a man who was currently seeking advice on how to deal with his newfound sexuality.

Not just in the fact that he had actually felt bad that he'd been too drunk at the time to really remember it, either.

Now, here he was, failing to pay attention to other clients (who came to him, paid him money to help them, by the way) because he was so busy thinking about how he'd kissed Dean.

And worst of all, he wanted to do it again.

Castiel was the worst psychiatrist in the world. In fact, he was a bad person. Bad, horrible, good for nothing who should crawl under his ikea desk and live there like a troll, mired in shame and low quality pine.

After his eleven thirty appointment left, he was tempted to seriously slide under his chair and pretend he wasn't there. He hadn't listened to a word Ruby had to say concerning her family issues, her dependency on gang culture or anything else, for that matter. Not that it mattered; she was a compulsive liar.

He couldn't believe he'd even thought that.

Bad psychiatrist.

Becky poked her head around the door, giving him a curious look. That was probably understandable, given that he was slumped over his desk and staring at the window the way a bank robber eyes the fire exit.

"Doctor DiAngelo, I'm going to go get some lunch. Do you want anything?"

"No… no, wait, I'll go with you."

"Don't you have an appointment? In… five minutes?"

"No…" Castiel attempted to lie, standing up and avidly not meeting Becky's eye.

"Doctor DiAngelo." Becky crossed her arms, watching him closely. "Is this a Dean thing?"

"No…"

"Doctor DiAngelo." She tutted, her eyes narrowed, and Cas really wished she would stop reminding him of the title he wasn't worthy of. "You have agreed to help that poor man come to terms with himself. You know he can do it, and I know you can help him. Just because he makes you uncomfortable, it gives you no reason to try and push him away. You…" She wandered around his desk, tidying away the papers that his idle fingers had been shredding, "are a professional, and you are good at your job. So you will stay here and speak to Dean."

"But…"

"I am going to lunch." Becky smiled, walking smartly from his office. "I am going to see my boyfriend. Mr Winchester will be here in five minutes."

Castiel doubted that.

He sat behind his desk, tapping his fingers awkwardly against the desk.

Five minutes ticked by.

Ten.

Well, at least he was still right about some things.

Castiel sighed, deciding he would use the brief reprieve to go to the fast food restaurant downstairs. Dean wasn't going to turn up, and Castiel honestly couldn't blame him. Being taken advantage of like that, being taken to a place so utterly new and unusual; he could fully understand-

"Cas?"

Dean was sat outside the office door, looking small and awkward.

"Dean." Castiel managed, mentally swatting away the gushing feelings of excitement.

Bad psychiatrist.

"Sorry I'm late." Dean managed. "I… I wasn't going to come but I…"

"No, no, I… completely understand." Both men were staring at each other, trying desperately to look as though the situation wasn't as hideously awkward as it felt. Cas consulted his brain for advice on how to resolve it, and the suggestions he was getting back were most emphatically not helpful.

They probably weren't legal, in a few states.

Bad psychiatrist.

"I mean… I am glad you came, but…"

"I wanted to apologise."

Castiel's stumbling train of thought promptly derailed and flipped over.

"What?"

"I shouldn't have… last night. I was drunk and I… I was pushing my boundaries, trying what was comfortable… I shouldn't have, uh… kissed. You."

Castiel stared at him for a moment, still frozen halfway out of his office door.

"Oh…" He forced a smile, waving his hand. "It was… nothing. I mean, yes, you did but… Understandable. Meant nothing. Shall we start the session?" He stood aside, to let Dean stagger sheepishly into the office. Inwardly he could actually feel his moral compass break free of its moorings and begin jabbing him in the gut. Even his inner Gabriel was standing back and refusing to applaud the palming off of responsibility.

He was a very, very bad psychiatrist.

(-*-)

For two weeks, Dean saw Castiel twice weekly, and they rehearsed the events of Thanksgiving, making sure Dean was comfortable with what he was going to tell Bobby and Ellen. And Sam. Jo. And Gabriel, he supposed. He did as Castiel asked, he answered questions and he was, to all extents and purposes, a willing patient.

He didn't ask Castiel out for drinks again.

He kept replaying that word, that one word over and over in his head, pushing away the feelings that were at once so wonderful and so confusing.

_Nothing_.

It had meant nothing. Cas had said so. And Dean had told himself that he shouldn't be surprised. In his more hopeful moments, he thought Cas might be worried for him, might think Dean resented or disliked him, but then he remembered that one little word, and kept his mouth shut.

(-*-)

Thanksgiving rolled around quickly, and Dean fled before Sam was even awake. He did not want to be stuck for an hour's drive with the two terrified love-birds, not when he had his own news to worry about. The impala was his zone, his safe space. It was filled with his smells, his music, and laid out how he wanted it. It was a space where he could let his thoughts out, where he could practice saying what it was he wanted to say, and where he could pull over by the side of the road and just yell at nothing for a while.

By the time he got to Bobby's he was filled with nervous energy, but he was coping. He pushed open the door, and was greeted by a great, booming bark. Rumsfeld, Bobby's pet Rottweiler, leapt up and slobbered over Dean's jeans. Like Dean didn't see the great mutt every week.

"Hey?" He called, petting the excited dog.

"Through here!" Ellen called back from the kitchen, apparently still preparing everything for the afternoon meal. Dean checked his watch. He was an hour early, which probably explained a few things. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it onto the couch, before joining the woman who had raised him in the kitchen he had been raised in. There were so many memories tied up with the old tiles and faded cupboards.

He mentally slapped himself; getting sentimental wouldn't help things. He was on a mission.

Ellen smiled at him over her shoulder, in the middle of trying to force a turkey into an oven which, according to physics, was not going to do the job. The laws of physics, however, had nothing on Ellen Singer.

"You're early."

"You're cooking turkey."

"Stating the obvious wasn't cute when you were a kid, and it's not winning you favours now." She backed away from the oven, pulling off oven mits with a finality that said the oven had better not question her.

"Hey, I have it on good authority that I'm adorable." Dean grinned, fetching himself some water from the pitcher in the fridge. Ellen then took his glass from him, so Dean poured himself another one. Casual theft was probably one of the best signs of a close family, he thought, as he watched Ellen eyeing the oven. He was bluntly reminded of Castiel's story concerning his own parents, and felt suddenly very glad to have people as truly good as Bobby and Ellen.

"Speaking of adorable, Bobby's picking up Jo from the bus depot. They should be here… I don't know, twenty minutes or so."

"Cool. It'll be nice to see how she's doing with college."

"You alright?" Ellen looked up at him, concerned.

Damn mother figures and their damn psychic abilities.

"Fine." Dean lied, leaning against the counter. "So, meeting Gabriel."

"Yeah. What's he like?" Ellen grinned, her eyes shining. She wanted nothing more than to see her "boys" happy, but that didn't mean she wouldn't tease the living hell out of them.

"Short." Dean said, straining back to the one time he had really managed to have a conversation with him. "Cocky."

"That's it?" Ellen scowled, slapping him lightly on the arm. "You're no help."

Dean shrugged, sharing Ellen's smile, before setting down his glass and pulling her into a hug. After a moment of surprise, Ellen hugged him back.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah." Dean muttered, into her shoulder. "I just… I need…"

"Ok." Ellen said, knowing from years of experience when to speak and when to act. They stood in silence, wrapped in each other's arms, with no intention other than to be exactly where they were. After a while, Dean pulled back.

"Don't tell anyone about that."

"Wouldn't dare." Ellen grinned, taking a chopping board from one of the cupboards and beginning to peel vegetables. "Imagine how they would react if they knew that Dean had a feeling."

"You're hilarious."

"Funniest person you'll ever meet. Now run to the store and get us some rum, we're going to need it for the desserts."

Dean exchanged one more smile with Ellen before going gladly. Somehow, Ellen always knew.

(-*-)

When Sam and Gabriel eventually arrived, Dean had lapsed into a conversation with Bobby about why a season ticket to the hockey rink was totally justifiable, and why he didn't want to go back to college and no he wouldn't and money wasn't an issue, and anyway back to hockey, and no he wasn't going back to college, because he didn't want to because he just didn't, ok?

He was almost glad to see them turn up, even if only as a distraction. Sam was already bitching about Dean driving here without him, and Dean was happy to watch Ellen and Bobby instantly start summing up the newcomer. Jo soon descended on them too, giving Sam a hug that would kill a lesser man. Dinner was served pretty much immediately, and Dean was really starting to get nervous.

They were all clustered around the kitchen table, and all making amicable discussion, although Dean honestly couldn't say what about. Bobby would occasionally mention college, Dean would tell him he wasn't going back to college. Then there was some other stuff. He was just trying to not watch Sam and Gabriel. Every time their hands brushed, they glanced at each other. They kept exchanging private smiles, quiet whispers, sharing something with each other that was so not like anything Dean had shared with anyone.

He focused hard on trying not to watch them. On trying not to want something like that. He had enough to focus on, and had to deal with one thing at a time.

That was when Jo said the magic words that made the entire conversation flip on its head.

"You're _that_ Gabriel DiAngelo?"

Dean looked up. He wished he'd been following the conversation now.

"Yeah…" Gabriel was dismissing, looking very embarrassed. "No, it wasn't…"

"Oh my god! You used to write for Doctor Sexy!"

That did it. From then on, the conversation was Dean, Jo and Ellen discussing the soap that they hated to admit they loved so much, while Gabriel imparted backstage gossip, and Sam and Bobby shared oblivious shrugs with each other.

The next half hour was eating and talking, and Dean found himself less and less uncomfortable with the image of Sam and Gabriel sharing intimate moments over the sweet potatoes. That was when Ellen suggested they start the old tradition of sharing their Thanks before dessert.

This was it, then. Dean had determined that this was when he was going to do it; he would say what Castiel had been helping him practice for two and a half weeks. He could, he would… he had to tell them.

They worked their way around the table, and Dean honestly wasn't listening to what everyone else was saying. He couldn't hear them. His blood was pumping in his ears, and he could swear everyone else could hear it.

"Uh… actually, I want to say something." He stared at his plate, suddenly very aware that everyone was watching him. "I, uh, want to say I'm thankful that I finally kicked a very bad relationship to the curb. I was… with a guy who treated me bad, and I didn't have the confidence in myself to end it. But it was my friends and family who helped me through. And, uh, I suppose thanks to Gabriel for introducing me to his brother, who is helping me face up to my issues…"

He managed to drag his eyes up, his brain withering and dying on the word, his mouth drying up.

"_I'm gay."_ Say it.

It was stupid. He was stupid.

They'd be fine with it.

"_Gay."_

They probably already knew.

Say it, he told himself. Just say it.

"And… that's it."

He won a few congratulations for saying what he had, but Dean was far too busy cursing himself. He'd failed. The one thing he'd wanted to do, and he'd failed.

When they set up the barbecue pit for the dessert, Dean was all too glad to leave Bobby and Gabriel to their awkward "what are your intentions" talk. He wandered into the autoyard, kicking at any loose bits of scrap that dared to lie in his path. Eventually, he sat on the ground and stared up at the evening sky, tending to his wounded pride.

He'd lied to them. Again. Lied to himself.

He could deal with that. He'd been doing it long enough. But through all of it, like the fragment of a bullet that is too small to be found and removed, was the ever-present pain of humiliation.

Cas would eventually find out.

He knew, he could just see, the pity, the disappointment that Cas would look at him with. Tutting, telling him that it didn't matter and that he can still do it, but looking at him with eyes that said he'd expected nothing more than failure from one so dense as Dean.

Because that was Dean, wasn't it? Failure. He'd failed his dad, he'd failed Sam, and now he was failing himself. Of course he'd fail Cas.

Jo's laughter cut through the evening air, and Dean realised he should rejoin everyone. He stood, wiping his itchy face. Had he been crying? He wanted to think he couldn't remember the last time he cried, except he really could. He just didn't want to.


	11. Chapter 11

The evening was cold.

Of course it was cold, it was fucking November, dumb-ass.

Dean needed to calm down and stop yelling at himself.

He poked savagely at the coals in the barbecue pit instead. Stupid coals. Stupid Dean. Stupid coals.

"You alright?" Bobby raised an eyebrow at his eldest son, talking quietly as Ellen and Jo buddied up to Gabriel on the porch.

"Fine." Dean growled, in such a way that implied he wasn't fine, and he knew he wasn't fooling anyone, but if Bobby so much as tried to look for anything then Dean would have to do something drastic. Like curl up in a ball and whimper.

"Ok." Bobby shrugged, finishing the last of his chocolate banana and dropping the skin in the pit. "So, what you said earlier. It was a brave thing to do."

Dean stared at the banana skin, withering and blackening under the heat.

"I'm proud of you."

Dean continued to look just about anywhere but at Bobby.

"You know that, right? I mean, I go on at you sometimes, about going back to college, but that's just because I don't want to see you selling yourself short. You're a smart kid. Smarter than you give yourself credit for. Smarter than you da…" Bobby stopped himself short, glancing at Dean. "Smarter than I am. I just don't want to see you waste what you've got. But whatever you do, you know… however you live… Me an' Ellen, we'll still love you for it."

Dean managed a weak smile, and Bobby returned it with a curt nod. That was the extent of the moment, now they would drink beer and never talk about it again. Dean had spent far too much time with his feelings tonight.

He'd turn into a massive girl, if he wasn't careful.

Oh God, he'd turn into Sam.

Jo was trying to convince Sam to stay there the night. Dean leapt ship onto the new conversation.

"Wait, didn't you come here in Gabriel's car? You want to drive that thing home? On a November night?"

Convincing Sam and Bobby to work on Gabriel's rust-bucket of a car was like trying to get leaves to fall off of trees in autumn; it didn't take much effort, and probably would have happened without Dean's insistence anyway. Fixing cars was something Dean could do, and it was something that took his mind off of phoning Cas for an hour or two.

(-*-)

Castiel had been curled up on his couch, reading. He was supposed to be watching Gabriel's dog, Murdoch, but the Jack Russell knew enough about people, and Castiel in particular, that he could be left to do his own thing.

"Woof." Murdoch supplied, by way of cutting through Castiel's thoughts, knowing he wasn't allowed on the cream couch. Sighing, Castiel unfurled himself and allowed the dog to jump into his lap. The book was put aside, and Castiel turned his attention to his guest.

"I am sorry I lead such an uninteresting life, Murdoch." Cas grumbled, scratching behind the dog's ear. "Perhaps I should make my apartment more like Gabriel's, to help you feel at home? I could invest in a television?"

Murdoch made a noncommittal sound, which seemed to say "as long as you keep petting me, you can paint the walls pink for all I care."

"I suppose you are glad of any attention, since lately Gabriel has been somewhat distracted with his latest infatuation."

Murdoch looked at him. Castiel knew that dogs couldn't speak English, but he was sure Murdoch understood the gist of the conversation, especially since the look implied that Castiel had no idea how attention deprived Gabriel's new relationship had made him.

"Very well. I shall fetch both of us some dinner, and we shall… perhaps we shall visit Pamela. Not that I don't value your company, of course, but it is seven o'clock on Thanksgiving, and I am attempting to distract myself from thoughts of my ongoing descent into non-professionalism at the hands of Dean Winchester by talking to a dog... Dinner?"

"Woof." Murdoch supplied, hopping nimbly down and leading the way to the kitchen. Cas, at least, was fully aware of how sad he was, which was good, since Gabriel wasn't there to point it out.

(-*-)

Dean didn't ask who Pamela was. But, when Gabriel hung up the phone and told Sam that Cas was at Pamela's for the evening, and neither of them minded Gabriel staying the night, Dean was sickened by the pang of jealousy he felt.

Of course Cas had other friends. Maybe girlfriends. Maybe he was bi, so what, it made no difference to Dean. He shoved all of the heavy, dangerous thoughts aside, and continued working on the car. By the time they had finished, night had well and truly set in. Dean spent longer than strictly necessary putting away the tools and tidying up. By the time he was done, Sam and Bobby had both showered and gone to bed. The house was quiet, as he turned on the shower and cocooned himself with the noise of gushing water.

The warm water against the cold air made his skin shiver and shrink, and soon the business-like swipes of soap and flannel across his grimy, oil-covered skin waned into something more tired. He stood in the shower, leaning against the porcelain tile, warm spray of water massaging the back of his neck as he closed his eyes. The water rushed down his back and fell to the floor, and he wished he could send some thoughts with it.

He'd cried.

He'd felt so utterly bad with himself that he'd cried.

The last time he'd cried, he'd been ten years old. He still remembered the oak panelling, the long, shining tables. There wasn't a surface in the room that hadn't been polished to within an inch of it's life, including the judge's bald head. The judge had looked down at John Winchester, in the defendant's chair, and knocked his gavel. That was it. Sam and Dean were no longer under the "unsuitable" care of John Winchester. They would be taken to a foster home until other arrangements could be set up.

Their father had looked at them, clean-shaven and sober for once. He hadn't tried to fight, he hadn't yelled or thrown things around; in short he hadn't done anything that Dean had expected him to. He had nodded at the judge's words, turned to his sons with a defeated, crumpled expression on his face, and told them he was sorry.

Then, he'd let the social care people lead Sam and Dean out of the courtroom. They probably shouldn't have been in there in the first place.

Dean had run to the bathroom; Sam was small and confused, and he didn't want to scare him even more.

Dean had run to the bathroom as fast as his short-ass legs could carry him, locked himself in a stall, curled up on the floor and cried.

He loved his Dad. He wasn't a bad man. He just said bad things sometimes. Got angry. But he never meant it. And yeah, he'd pushed Sam one time, and Sam had fallen down the stairs, but he'd driven him straight to the hospital, and bought them all ice cream after. Dean was ten years old, he didn't understand how psychology worked, or what the adults meant when they threw around words like "manic", or "neurotic". He just wanted things to stay the way he understood them. Now he had to look after Sam, because his dad had always said, if the day came that he wasn't around, Dean's number one priority should be to look out for Sam.

Did that make him the grown up now?

No. Grown-up Dean wanted to go back to that scared little kid in the bathroom stall and take him to the arcade, tell him living with Bobby and Ellen and Jo was the best thing that'd ever happen, tell him his dad would still visit, and tell him everything was going to be ok.

Except he couldn't. He couldn't go back there, tell ten-year-old Dean anything. He certainly couldn't promise everything was going to be ok. Truthfully, he'd have to tell that little kid that one day he'd find out he liked men, and the man he liked probably wouldn't like him back, and he wouldn't even be able to tell his own family about it because he'd be scared of admitting it to himself.

Fuck.

He turned off the shower, dried himself, and went to bed. He just couldn't think any more.

(-*-)

Dean maybe managed to scrape five hours of sleep. All he knew was, at twenty past four, he woke with a start. He stumbled into his clothes and shut the bedroom door quietly. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He wandered into the kitchen and sat down, wondering what to do.

Sam was apparently psychic.

"Oh. Hey."

"Hey… you're awake because..?"

"Couldn't sleep." Sam whispered, tying up his running shoes. "Going for a run. Want to come with?"

"I'm already awake at four in the morning, what makes you think I'd want to exercise?"

"Suit yourself." Sam shrugged, zipping up his hoody. Dean watched him for a moment.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah."

"Sam." Dean glared at him. When you've lived with someone their entire life, you can't really get away with bullshitting them.

"I'm… it's just school stuff. Grades. I'm just getting worn down, you know?"

"That's it?"  
>"Yeah. Just a little stressed." Sam smiled at him, and headed for the door. He paused, smiling awkwardly back at Dean. "Don't tell Gabriel about this? I don't want him to worry."<p>

"Sure. Whatever." Dean sighed as he started making coffee for himself. If he was up, he may as well be awake.

So he guessed that was it. Sam and Gabriel were officially a couple.

It wasn't like they had to ask his permission, but it would have been nice to know this a little sooner. Now he felt extra unprepared. He watched the kettle boil, trying to drown out his thoughts with the quiet rumble and the chink of dried coffee beans on china. It didn't work, obviously, but he could try.

Maybe he needed some time to himself, without Cas or Sam or Gabriel or anyone else, just to figure out what the hell he wanted.

He was starting to warm to the idea, the more he thought about it.

Dean Winchester's big soul-searching journey. John had left some money, at least, when he'd died. He and Sam both had respectable trust funds; he could blow it all on a trip to Brazil or around Europe. That was where people went when they wanted to find themselves, right? Or he could stop working at Bobby's, move to… somewhere boring, and cut off. Get a little cabin in the middle of the Arizona plains, and just read for a year. Educate himself. Then he'd come back, and he wouldn't just know who he was and what he wanted, but he'd be able to go about getting it.

Yeah.

He could do that.

He just needed some time to plan, he thought, and as soon as he'd thought it, Gabriel stuck his head around the kitchen door.

He could hold off planning for later, he supposed, as he invited Gabriel to sit down for coffee and pancakes. Right now, he should probably spend some quality bonding time with his brother's boyfriend. And maybe tell the most embarrassing stories he could think of.

(-*-)

Gabriel said Cas would "value Dean's friendship. Dean thought Gabriel didn't know what he was talking about.

Once they'd returned to pick up Murdoch, Gabriel had told Cas that Dean needed a friend more than a counsellor. Castiel was sure Gabriel was just causing mischief again.

As a result of these two opinions, it was a confused day after Thanksgiving before either man saw the other. When they did finally meet, it came from Dean standing nervously outside Castiel's office, receiving some amused looks from Becky.

"Shut up." Dean growled at her. "You know I've been seeing a counsellor; you think I'm good at confrontation?"

Becky smirked, but went back to her computer. Dean took a deep breath, and raised his hand to knock on the door.

That was when Castiel opened it.

"Oh." Said Castiel, as Dean swung his hand forward to knock on thin air.

"Oh." Agreed Dean, yet again feeling like the great lumbering Ox in Castiel's delicate, spindly world.

"Dean." Castiel managed, a slight blush creeping across his cheeks. Dean had no idea what Castiel had to be embarrassed about, since it was his office. "I had not been expecting you."

"No, I… uh…" Dean felt the words dry up in his mouth. He really did not want to tell Cas that all their counselling had been for nothing, just because Dean was too much of a chicken to face himself.

"Is there a problem?"

The pause that followed Castiel's question seemed to stretch on for hours, everything slowing to a crawl as Dean's brain floundered for something, anything, to say.

"I told them."

With a sickening lurch, the world shot forward into double time. Dean's mouth got away from him, lying about how he'd told his family, how he'd been accepted, and how he felt happy and healthy and really didn't need a counsellor any more, but he would still like to hang out with Cas, and there was a hockey game on tomorrow if Cas wanted to go, but it was short notice so he could understand if…

Dean lost track of what he was saying. Cas was smiling; he looked so genuinely pleased… even proud of Dean. He felt slimy and worthless, but now the lie was out there and he couldn't take it back.

Cas was smiling.

God, that was a wonderful smile.

A smile worth lying for, Dean decided, as Castiel nodded and said he'd love to go to the hockey game with Dean, although he'd be late in the office so Dean would have to come pick him up if he wanted them to be on time.

Dean replied, although he honestly didn't know what he said, because he was too busy staring at Castiel's slight, smiling lips. He left the office, and sat in his car for ten minutes, trying to locate and reprimand the part of his brain that had said such a stupid thing.

Castiel, meanwhile, watched Dean leave.

Then he realised that Becky was watching him, and that he was in too good a mood to snap at her.

Almost.

"Isn't there some filing you should be doing?"

"Yes, I should be moving Dean's file to "A" for "adorable"." Becky smirked. Castiel backed into his office.

"Look, go get me coffee, or I'll phone up the agency and say you were stealing supplies."


	12. Chapter 12

Dean had never looked so out of place. Castiel watched him closely, because… well, there was nothing else to do.

The Impala was currently mired in the most ridiculous traffic either man had ever seen.

"It's insane." Dean scowled, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He'd been blurting occasional, repetitive commentary on the traffic for the better part of a half hour, and Castiel was pretty sure he could actually see worry lines forming on Dean's forehead.

"Utterly mad. We're never going to get to the game on time. Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"Huh?" Dean jerked around like he'd been shocked. He almost looked like he'd forgotten Castiel was in the passenger seat. The drumming fingers only stopped for a moment, before picking up the same fervent rhythm. Castiel gave his best calming smile and spoke again.

"What's. Wrong."

"Nothing. Traffic. The game…" Drum, drum, drum.

"Dean, did you kill someone on your way to picking me up?"

"What? No!"

"Then you're not about to be arrested, so the only other explanation for your obvious nervousness is that something's wrong." Cas levelled him with a no nonsense stare. "What's wrong?"

"I, um…" Dean shrugged, staring out of the window and drumming his fingers against the wheel some more. It sounded like a stampede of mice. "I just wanted to get to the game, you know? Hang out with you. But, that's looking kind of screwed."

"We can go somewhere else, Dean, it's not a problem." Castiel rested a hand on Dean's elbow, but was forced to reconsider approaches when Dean pulled away like he'd been burnt.

Cas stared at him. Dean carried on staring out of the window. The drumming resumed.

"Have I offended you in some way?"

"What? No, I just… Hockey, man."

"Dean, would you please just tell me what's wrong?"

Dean glared at the sea of traffic for a while. Castiel was starting to get a little worried that Dean might kick him out of the car.

"I shouldn't have kissed you. I never would have done it. You should have told me you have a girlfriend."

Castiel blinked at Dean for a moment, trying to untangle the selection of statements.

"Dean," he said, eventually, "what exactly do you think 'gay' means?"

"Yeah, well, who's Pamela?"

Castiel was a little taken aback.

"A friend. She and Gabriel helped me get through medical school. Why do you ask?"

"I just… Gabriel said you were spending thanksgiving at hers and…" Dean shrugged, suddenly looking very sheepish. He started drumming his fingers again. "I got it wrong, whatever. Nothing new there. Forget I mentioned it."

"Dean…"

"I said forget it."

Drum, drum, drum.

"I kissed you."

"What?" Dean didn't seem to hear Castiel. Whatever it was that was going through his head must have been utterly agonising, Castiel thought. He tried again.

"That night, when we went up to the roof and got drunk. I kissed you. You didn't kiss me, I was the one who… initiated the contact."

Drum, drum, drum.

If he had Dean's attention, he was probably going to get kicked out of the car for saying this. If not, he would have to say it again, later. It would be easier to tell if he could look anywhere in Dean's direction, but he found himself struggling to make eye contact with the glove box.

"I let you think it was your action, and I am very sorry about that."

Drum, drum, drum.

"However, I was having trouble coping with the idea that I would act so unprofessionally, and so I thought letting you believe the kiss was your doing would…"

Drum, drum, drum.

"Would be easier for everyone. The fact is, I have found counselling you rather difficult given your emotional problems and the fact that I have always thought you incredibly attractive, both physically and… will you please stop that infuriating drumming?"

Before he could stop himself, Cas found his hand had shot out and grabbed Dean's, pulling it away from the steering wheel. While it did stop the drumming, it also meant forcing them to look at each other. Dean stared at Cas. Cas stared right back.

"Um…" Castiel's voice had apparently decided to make a run for it, along with most of his common sense. "I mean… Sorry."

"You… kissed me."

"Yes. That was the general point I was trying to get across." He dropped Dean's hand, dragging himself away from the awkward eye contact. That was when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and then, in some sort of physics-defying rush, the hand was on the back of his neck, his hands were in Dean's hair and their tongues were in each other's mouth.

This was bad, Castiel thought, as Dean pulled him closer. Not the traffic or the car, they hadn't moved in the past ten minutes and as such he wasn't worried about Dean keeping his eyes on the road. No, he reprimanded himself, as his hands slipped under Dean's jacket and trailed over the soft cotton of his shirt. It was bad, because he really shouldn't be doing this with someone who'd only been out of counselling for a week. Should he? It felt right, and Dean certainly seemed to be enjoying it, if the way he was clutching at Castiel's waist was anything to…

With almost poetic bad timing, the sound of an angry car horn jolted them apart. Dean smiled awkwardly as he pushed the car into drive, his lips flushed pink and his hair sticking out at odd angles. They managed another hundred yards before the traffic stopped them again.

"Uh… Yeah." Dean was still smiling that awkward, embarrassed smile. Castiel fought to keep himself under control.

"If you would rather we… parted ways, I would understand."

"No, no. No, I… we should stick together. I'm just… not sure hockey is really where I want to go with you, now."

"What would you suggest?"

Dean seemed to swallow a breath, regaining control of himself.

"Dinner?" Dean glanced across at Castiel, slipping his hand down to rest on the seat. "I mean… I'm kind of new at this whole thing, obviously, but… In my experience, you can't go wrong with buying someone dinner."

"I'll pay." Castiel smiled, resting his hand next to Dean's. "A sort of 'coming out congratulatory meal'. And then… we can see where you want to take it."

Dean nodded, his fingers brushing briefly over the back of Castiel's hand. Interestingly enough, once they'd picked a new destination, the traffic seemed to get a whole lot freer.

(-*-)

Dean wasn't inexperienced, per se. He'd been physical with a man before, but he had never done it while freely admitting to himself that he was gay. He'd only ever been physical with one man, and that had certainly not been a relationship. So now, having safely removed his 'counsellor' badge and placing himself firmly in the realm of Dean's personal life, Castiel was free to observe Dean's intimacy issues in practice.

Dean would go out to dinner with Castiel. He'd call him Cas, he'd marvel at the occasional brushes of contact, stating how amazed he was that it felt right. He'd even occasionally indulge in a little charm, if his confidence allowed it. Castiel couldn't resist smiling, the few times Dean had worked up the courage to try flirting with him.

But he didn't like it being made obvious that they were a couple. He would never invite Castiel back to his and Sam's apartment. He had asked Castiel not to mention it to Sam or Gabriel. He wouldn't hold hands in public.

Then there was… well…

It had been about a week since the hockey-game-that-wasn't, and the two of them had seen each other every day. Lunch dates, usually, with two dinner dates. And it was a Saturday, which meant Dean didn't have work the next morning, so he had allowed himself to drink a little more than usual at dinner. Castiel, who had ended up drinking along with him, had been surprised, and more than a little overjoyed, when Dean had uttered the immortal line, asking if they could go back to Castiel's place for coffee.

Castiel had never before been so thankful for the over-caffeinated nature of American culture.

They fell through the front door together, Dean's mouth hungrily chasing Castiel's, his hands tracing delicate lines across his face, his neck, his shoulders… Dean often seemed to hold Castiel like he was afraid he might break him. Castiel liked that.

They were struggling out of their jackets, trying to lose layers while still holding their lips together. Castiel backed through the apartment by memory, guiding Dean to the couch.

"God…" Dean gasped a breath, as he fell onto the couch and pulled Castiel with him. "You're good at that."

"You're not too bad yourself." Castiel laughed, as Dean reclined over the full length of the couch and pulled him down for another kiss. Castiel found himself crouched, one knee either side of Dean's hips, staring into his eyes. Dean faltered.

"We don't have to do this." Cas read the tension instantly. "Not tonight. Not if you don't want to."

"I… I want to." Dean chuckled, his eyes oddly serious as he scrutinised Castiel's face. "It's just… kind of a big moment." His hands rested on Castiel's back, and Cas was surprised to find himself being pulled into a hug. A pleasant surprise, of course, but… in all the time he'd known Dean, he didn't seem that big on hugs. Or embraces. Or quick squeezes. And certainly not cuddles, which he felt this was fast becoming.

Of course, Dean was slightly drunk.

"You should only do it if you're sure." Castiel said, resting his hands on Dean's chest. "And we're both a little drunk…"

"No. I'm sure. I'm sure I want to do this. But this is kind of a 'point of no return' thing. Commitment."

"To me?"

"Yeah." Dean said, nudging Castiel's chin and pulling him up into a kiss. It was all about committing to Cas. And not at all about committing to being out, no matter how much Dean's conscience told him otherwise.


	13. Chapter 13

Sex feels good.

That was the sentiment that Dean had based a rather large portion of his life on. Of course, as he'd gotten older and wiser, he'd added a few provisos.

Sex feels good… if it's done right.

Sex feels good… if you're just the right amount of drunk.

Sex feels good… with other men.

But he'd never felt anything like what he felt when he was with Castiel.

Castiel needed a whole new word, just for him and the ridiculous, possibly illegally good way he made Dean feel. Castiel's bed, Castiel's sheets, Cas himself, the apartment… Dean was wrapped up in all of it, and this might be the alcohol talking but it was incredible. He was pretty sure he blacked out for a moment, when he came.

And when he woke up, there were two things he was very, very sure of.

One, the hangover that had taken up lodging in his brain meant he was getting old, and two, he was officially out.

Yeah, so maybe he hadn't actually told anyone at Thanksgiving, like he'd intended to… like he'd told Cas he had… but he just hadn't been ready, that was all. He looked across to see Castiel sleeping next to him, and he knew, now he was ready. Now he had something worth speaking up for. He'd tell Sam, and Bobby, and Ellen… and Jo, although the teasing he'd get would be dire… tell them all that he was gay, and then he'd come back to Castiel and it would be like he'd never lied in the first place. No problem.

Also, if he was honest, he was getting tired of having to hide it all from Sam. Yes, Sam was busy being a big mushy girl with Gabriel, but he still had to live with the moose. It made it difficult, and he didn't like lying and sneaking around. Not when the truth was clearly so much easier. And resulted in more Castiel. Speaking of which…

He nudged Cas off his shoulder, flexing his arm. His arm sent some grumbling pins and needles back to him, but Dean ignored it.

"Cas?"

"Nnguh."

"Cas?"

"'S Sunday. No work."

"I know. I was wondering if you wanted breakfast."

Cas lay still for a moment, before prizing his head away from the pillow and blinking owlishly at Dean.

"Am I dreaming you? It would explain a lot if I was…"

"Show me where you keep the coffee." Dean grinned, feeling far too happy. He was glad he wasn't at his and Sam's, Sam would never let him forget behaviour of this soporiphic girlitude.

Cas sat up, grabbed Dean's neck and pulled him in to a kiss, before slinking out of bed and shrugging on a robe.

"Come on, then. Let's feed you."

(-*-)

Castiel grinned sheepishly, barely concealing a smile as Dean relaxed into one of the kitchen chairs, apparently sated by the aromatherapy of bacon and coffee.

"Could you butter some bread for me?"

"Sure." Dean took the loaf of bread from the counter next to Castiel, and selected a bread knife.

"Butter, ketchup, barbeque sauce and cheese are in the fridge, if you could…"

"Really?" Dean's smirk became positively wolfish. "That sounds like a pretty amazing sandwich."

"You have a problem with that?" Castiel shone another sheepish smile, prodding the bacon around the frying pan with a wooden spatula.

"No, no… I just always had you for a health-freak. Someone who eats salad."

"I try to watch what I eat. Having something like this for breakfast is a rare occurrence." Castiel admitted. "Which is why I'm going to do it right."

Cas smirked again, licking bacon grease off his thumb before he caught himself. He turned embarrassed eyes on Dean, who was looking at him like he might be made of bacon too.

"What? Do I have grease on my face?"

"No." Dean swallowed, a blush creeping over his cheeks. "You're just… you say stuff sometimes… I'm not used to being allowed to want someone… a guy… you, like this." He shrugged. Castiel smiled, resting the spatula on the side and slipping his arms around Dean's waist.

"You are allowed to speak your mind, Dean. Here, with me, you're safe. You can say how you feel."

"I… You're awesome, Cas." Dean smiled, his eyes locked hungrily on Castiel's lips. "Thank you for being awesome."

"Thank you." Castiel replied, leaning forward and brushing his lips against the taller man's. "Just in general."

Dean let the kiss linger, brushing lips and slowly pressing for more contact, bacon sizzling and kettle humming in the background, the world around them fading away into a haze.

Then Dean's phone rang, and Castiel turned quietly back to the bacon as Dean cursed.

"Yeah, what?" He said into the phone, earning himself an amused smirk from Castiel. "No," Dean grumbled into the phone, buttering bread and slicing cheese as he did. "I'm just… I went out to Bobby's."

Castiel tensed. Dean had requested that their relationship be kept secret from Sam and Gabriel, although he had been a little vague on the reasoning, Castiel had presumed it was to do with the stigma of dating one's ex-counsellor. He couldn't help but feel a little bad.

"I left my jacket there so I went out to get it." Dean was still lying. "Want me to pick anything up on my way back?"

Castiel took the slices of cheese from Dean and rested them on top of the bacon to melt them, finding a small relief in the way the oil hissed, covering up Dean's words. Covering them, but not erasing them.

Dean stayed for breakfast, before giving Castiel another kiss and making his way out.

Castiel marked papers. Looked through case studies. Generally found ways to keep himself busy and keep his mind off of Dean and his secrecy. None of them worked, of course, and as such he was actually relieved to get a phone call from Gabriel when he was sat down to lunch.

"Hey, you know how you're a fundamentally boring human being with no social life whatsoever?"

"And good morning to you too."

"It's afternoon, actually. And you know I don't like to repeat material. Look, are you doing anything this evening? I was thinking you and Pamela could wine and dine… spend some time inducting Sam into our warped little family."

Castiel supposed, if he was going to be such a bad counsellor, he may as well make the effort to be a good brother.

(-*-)

When Castiel arrived, Sam, Gabriel and Pamela were already half way through the first bottle of wine, and therefore they decided his arrival was the perfect reason to open another. It was from such a beginning that the evening progressed, the four party members getting slowly more drunk, occasionally looked in on by Gabriel's dog, Murdock. The party had a simple enough mission statement: Sam wanted to know all the embarrassing details of Gabriel's childhood.

Castiel, watching Sam and Gabriel curl up on the couch, rejoicing in their openness as a couple, was not at all jealous and only happy to help someone else reach the kind of happiness he could never achieve for himself.

He pulled the bottle of wine slightly closer and perched on his ottoman like a wet cat. Pamela was holding court.

"No, it's fun!" She insisted. "Svad was this huge Norwegian guy, and he basically turned Gabriel into his prison bitch." Gabriel was burying his face in Sam's arm, having the decency to at least pretend to be ashamed.

"He had him pretending to be a woman and everything."

"Not pretending…" Gabriel protested. "Just… dressing like one."

"And that is a story I do not wish to hear." Castiel grumbled, as he downed what remained of his wine before instantly filling it again.

"Oh come on," Gabriel grinned like a fox. A fox that was very intent on not only catching the chickens, but making them beg for the swift jaws of mercy. Castiel hated that grin. "This is brotherly bonding. Sam and Dean know all this stuff about each other…"

"Yeah," Sam chuckled, his eyes swimming slightly with the wine. "But in fairness, it's not like I want to know the ins and outs of Dean's love-life."

Castiel hoped he concealed his guilty start, but he had never been a good liar, and alcohol wasn't helping. Gabriel's eyes narrowed.

"Castiel?"

"Dean…" Castiel muttered, before shooting a sidelong glance at Sam. He could tell them. Right here, right now, out their whole sordid affair and get it over with. But then… He would most likely lose Dean. That thought sent a shard of ice into his stomach. "It's nothing."

"What?" Sam struggled to sit up a little more, against Gabriel's weight. "I thought you and Dean were friends now. He said about making your hockey games a regular thing."

"Yes." Castiel shrugged, eyes on the floor. So that's the excuse Dean had come up with. "It's nothing."

"Castiel." Gabriel sat up, his bossy big brother tone firmly in place. "Is this to do with the thing we talked about before thanksgiving?"

Castiel adamantly refused to look at Gabriel or Sam, instead opting to stare at the floor. He felt his cheeks grow hot under the continued scrutiny of the group. 'The thing they had discussed before Thanksgiving'' here referred to the conversation in which Gabriel and Pamela had told Castiel it was morally fine to pursue one of his clients. Why did he listen to the stand up comedians, of all people?

"Castiel?"

Damn. No way out. They could not, and would not, be distracted.

"Yes."

"Has something new happened?" Pamela bounced in her seat at the prospect of gossip. "Do tell."

Castiel shot another awkward, wary glare at Sam, before silently imploring to Gabriel. Surely, if nothing else, Gabriel would know his bother well enough by now to understand that he couldn't possibly speak freely in present company, and therefore the whole issue should be dropped and, more importantly, a third… or fourth, now he counted, bottle should be opened.

Gabriel, being his normal, useless self, shrugged.

"Up to you, bro. He'll find out one way or another, eventually."

Sam poked Gabriel in the ribs, and Castiel bit back the urge to vomit. Damn their adorableness.

"What? What is going on?"

Castiel sighed, wondering exactly how much he could say without giving the game away.

"Dean's a confusing man." So far, the total, unerring truth. "I had hoped that, once he was no longer a client… being no longer bound by professionalism… I had hoped to… get to know him better." Castiel shot another glance at Sam here, hoping he didn't find the idea repellent or objectionable. Or, you know, hilariously unlikely to ever happen. Because that had been what Castiel had thought, on occasion.

"But?" Gabriel was watching him carefully, and Castiel had a feeling he was already suspicious.

"But he doesn't…" Delicacy, he decided, would be called for. "Sometimes he seems like he reciprocates, and sometimes he seems like he doesn't want to know, and I don't know where I stand with him. It's just gotten more and more confusing."

Technically, it was all true. Castiel had just handily omitted the part where they were already sleeping together, on the grounds that he was sure no one wanted to hear such details in a polite conversation.

Gabriel held out his hand to Castiel.

He knew. Maybe not the full, un-edited version, but Gabriel always knew when something was wrong with his little brother. Castiel took Gabriel's hands, guilty for having lied, but grateful that, if one person in this world would understand, it would be Gabriel. Gabriel's eyes swam drunkenly as he gripped Castiel's hand.

"Dean doesn't know what he's doing. Be patient, and he'll figure out what he wants."

"Wait." Sam said, the facts finally permeating his brain. He looked at Castiel, who was suddenly snapped back into the danger zone. "Castiel, are you… do you…"

Castiel flushed and glared at the floor again.

"Castiel has realised that he and Dean have a lot in common," Gabriel said, and although Castiel couldn't bring himself to look, he knew Gabriel was giving Sam a 'be tactful, you ox' sort of glare. "And if Dean is gay, as pretty much everyone suspects, he would like to be there to support Dean throughout the… difficult period of adjustment."

"Oh… Oh! Oh, well… Cas, if you can bring him out of the closet, more power to you. He won't listen to any of us, but… I think he might listen to you."

In that moment, in that one phrase, Castiel's whole world flipped ninety degrees to the left. He looked at Sam, seeing pure, unassuming correctness in his eyes. Dean had not told Sam, or Gabriel, or presumably anyone else, that he was gay.

That was why he'd asked they play at secrets. He was still living a lie.

As the slow trickle of lies and ramifications became obvious to Castiel, he flashed what he hoped was a sincere-looking smile, and drank more wine. There was so much to consider, and Sam and Gabriel both seemed so proud, no doubt thinking they had helped him.

Dean had lied. Dean was not an adjusted, healthy man. He still needed a counsellor. Castiel had only been too happy to take advantage; he should have checked, should have spotted the lie, but he hadn't, he was just so afraid of missing his chance and having Dean walk right out of his life… He couldn't afford to think about it here. He had to at least pretend to be happy for tonight. So, he thought, bitterly, what would Dean do?

He forced a laugh, and decided to return the conversation to the earlier ground of Gabriel's childhood.

"Who remembers the time Gabriel sabotaged the school production of Romeo and Juliet?"

Pamela and Gabriel both laughed. Castiel pushed another smile at Sam.

"You see, Gabriel had wanted a main part, such as Romeo, Tybalt or Mercutio, but instead they had cast him as one of the assorted Capulets. He was… fourteen, I believe?"

"Thirteen." Gabriel corrected.

"And he held a grudge. So, in the middle of the opening night performance, he runs up to the gallery with one of the other disgruntled actors… I believe she had been cast as lady Montague… and they proceed to moon everyone on stage."

"Seriously?" Sam laughed, staring at Gabriel.

"What? We were making an artistic statement. Weren't we, Lady M?"

"You know it." Pamela grinned, sitting back.

"Of course…" Gabriel chuckled, "it became a little less artistic when some dick moved the curtains so we were on display to everyone."

Pamela laughed and squeezed Sam's hand.

"Surprised, Sam? Please, someone tell me he's pulling a shocked face?"

"His jaw is in his lap." Gabriel grinned. "Which makes a change to it being in mine." Gabriel laughed, shielding himself from the various pillows and shoes that were thrown at him. He hiccoughed a slightly tipsy chuckle, and nuzzled further into Sam's arms. Castiel suppressed a jealous urge to take the bottle of wine and lock himself in the bathroom.

"You love me really. You all think I'm hilarious."

"Close." Pamela said, smiling. "We all like to laugh at you. That's almost the same."

Gabriel blew a raspberry at her, and she blew one right back. Sam laughed.

"Nice to know we're all mature here."  
>"They're comedians." Castiel shrugged, hoping that an active conversation would distract him from the breakdown he could feel approaching. "It's not like they had to grow up, like the two of us."<p>

"Whoa!" Gabriel laughed, "I'm wounded, Castiel! Ouch!"

"Yeah, don't hold back." Pamela agreed. "Say what you really think."

"I am so mortally offended…" Gabriel announced, standing up, "that I have to go to the bathroom." He slapped Sam on the thigh as he left.

"Oh god." Pamela giggled, wiping a tear from her eye. "This is good. Sam, you should hang out with us more often."

"Yes, it is good to have another sane human being in the group." Castiel mumbled, draining his glass. He opened another bottle and poured out another round. It wouldn't do to be drinking alone. Pamela laughed.

"Oh, isn't he adorable when he's drunk?"

"Thanks." Sam grinned. "I like this, too. It's fun to really spend time with you guys. I guess you're kind of the closest thing Gabriel has to family."

"Yeah." Pamela sighed. "Poor guy never made life easy for himself."

"Gabriel…" Castiel began, before moving so that he was next to Sam on the couch. Gabriel was a subject he knew much of, and could happily focus on. "You need to understand, Gabriel has done a lot that I don't think he'll ever forgive himself for. Introducing us to his dates is possibly a bigger sign of commitment than I think I've ever seen him display."

"So…" Pamela chipped in. "No pressure."

The phone rang, cutting through the group's laugh. Sam chuckled, and got to his feet.

"I've got it."

"The phone, or Gabriel's burgeoning insanity?"

"Both." Sam smiled, before running to the kitchen and grabbing the phone.

Castiel sat back, and was slightly surprised to feel Pamela gripping his hand.

"Are you ok?"

He thought for a moment.

"Don't lie to a blind woman, Cas, it'll only make you feel worse."

"No." He said, at length. "No, I'm not."

"Is it Dean? Or are Rocky and Bullwinkle just giving you cavities?"

"Who?"

"Never mind." She patted Castiel's knee, a smile in her voice. "I'm here, whatever it is."

"I know." Castiel sighed, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm just a little lost right now."

"Hey! She's my fag hag, I saw her first." Gabriel grinned, returning from the bathroom, Castiel reluctantly let go of Pamela and sat back on the couch.

"Where's Goliath?"

"Kitchen. On the phone."

"Ooh." Gabriel wandered off again, and Pamela returned her attention to Castiel, holding her hand out to him.

"I'm serious, Cassie. You can tell me."

He took her hand, managing a weak smile.

"No one's called me Cassie for a long time."

"What does Dean call you?"

Castiel sighed, and gripped her hand again.

"I think I've lied. I think I might have acted unprofessionally. I have a lot to think about, and I don't think I can think about it."

"So don't." Pamela said. "You'll figure it out, in your own time."

Sam returned, and Castiel dropped Pamela's hand.

"Why do I know the name Balthazar?"

"Balthazar?" Castiel sat up, partly glad for the change in conversation, but equally worried. "He's our cousin. He lives In England. Why?"

"He just phoned Gabriel. I was…"

"Oh." Pamela sat up, a troubled pout forming on her lips. "That can't be good."

"What?"

"Since Gabriel and I were exiled by our parents…" Castiel hadn't heard from Balthazar in months, and he had a feeling a call out of the blue wouldn't bode well. "Balthazar has been our only link to the rest of our family. It may not be bad, but it'll certainly be important."

Sam retreated back into the kitchen, and Pamela's hand found Castiel's once more.

"I can't take any more bad news tonight." He whispered.

They strained to hear, but Gabriel appeared soon enough.

"So… So Balthazar might be staying over for Christmas." Gabriel tried to laugh, but it was weak and shaky, and fooled no one. "That'll… that'll be good."

"Gabriel." Sam rested a hand on his shoulder, casting worried looks at his boyfriend. Gabriel spun into the hug, and looked for all the world like he was trying to shelter himself from his own words. Castiel certainly felt rather than heard the words.

"Michael's dead."


	14. Chapter 14

It was an excuse, more than anything. He felt bad, he felt disgusted with himself, but he just had to get away, get on his own. So he used the news of Michael's death as an excuse, and at the first available opportunity he practically ran from Gabriel's apartment.

"Castiel." Pamela grabbed his hand, making him stop before he could get down the stairs.

"Pamela, please…"

"Are you alright? Do you want to crash at mine tonight?"

"No, I need…"

"You've drunk too much to drive, I'd be happier if…"

"Just let me go." He didn't mean to snap, and the way Pamela withdrew her hand made him feel even more slimy and monstrous than he had before. "I'm sorry, I am. I just… I need some space."

"Ok." She smiled, weakly, patting his hand. "Just… don't be a stranger, sweetie. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"I know." Castiel gripped her hand, and helped her down the stairs.

He couldn't believe that he had received news of his oldest brother's death, and still be preoccupied with thoughts of Dean.

Heart-breaking, life-wrecking, lying, baiting Dean.

Because no person could ever make anyone feel this bad without meaning to.

He had to have done it on purpose.

When Castiel finally got home, he took off his coat, shoes and tie, unbuttoned his shirt and fell into bed. He didn't want to think about any of it, and even if his thoughts wouldn't leave him alone, even if it was horrendously unhealthy, he was willing to try smothering himself with his own mattress.

The next morning, Castiel managed to shuck off his shirt entirely, and mustered the energy (over a series of uncomfortable hours, to lose his pants.

He inhaled the scent of dried tears, unsure whether it came from his hands or from his covers.

That evening, he continued to feel each relentless blow as the cycles of grief, heartbreak and guilt repeated on him.

His phone rang.

He didn't answer.

The next morning, his phone rang again. It managed to drag him out of his sleep, and he supposed he should eat something.

He poured out some cornflakes, and watched as they slowly turned to sludge.

He threw them away, and made himself some coffee.

His phone rang again.

"Yes?"

"Dr DiAngelo? Um, it's Becky. Not to, um, nag, but there's a lot of people here, and, um… well I was wondering where you are."  
>"Apologies. I overslept. I've been dealing with some… personal emotional issues. Apologise and reschedule to those whose appointments I've missed. I will be with you in twenty minutes."<p>

"Ok." He'd never heard Becky sound so relieved. "Thank you."

She hung up, and he noted that he had several missed calls, possibly accumulated while he was asleep. Some were from Becky, two were from Gabriel, one was from Pamela. Four were from Dean.

Castiel left his phone on the kitchen table at went to shower.

He could not afford to wallow in his self-pity, and he knew as much.

He went to his job, and listened to people. He did what he was paid for. It wasn't until Becky knocked on his door at lunchtime that he even spared a thought for himself.

"I just wanted to ask… are you alright? Do you want… anything, or… I can get you some food?"

"No, thank you." Castiel decided his desk needed tidying, because it did, and was definitely not using it as an excuse to avoid Becky's eye contact. "I have lost my appetite."

"If you don't mind my asking… I mean, sometimes it helps to talk about things…"

"My brother." Castiel sighed, feeling the same weary contractions of his insides that he had felt for days now. "My eldest brother, Michael, he passed away."

"Oh, I'm so sorry… were you… close?"

"No." Castiel managed to drag his eyes up to meet hers. "Somehow, that makes it worse."

Becky stood for a moment, looking torn between giving him a hug and going to fetch coffee. She smiled, sympathetically.

"You shouldn't be working. You should take the day off, have some time to relax…"

"No, thank you." He got to his feet, and returned her smile with a curt one of his own as he approached the bookcase. "I have too much to think about at home. I would much rather just… move on with my life."

There was a pause, as Becky considered arguing. Eventually, she nodded.

"You want me to send in your next appointment?"

"Please."

(-*-)

Dean had planned it all, damn it.

Trust Sam to mess it up. The first night he'd decided to come out, he'd got a text on the way back from Bobby's, saying he would be visiting Gabriel. Then, the next morning, he'd got another one informing him that Sam wasn't coming home over the weekend, because Gabriel was going through some stuff.

At first, Dean had been content to wait, but the longer he wasn't telling Sam, the more he was at risk of losing, which drove him nearly insane. Eventually, on Sunday evening, he phoned him.

"I can't come home, Dean."

"And hello to you too, jackass."

"Sorry. Look, Gabriel's…" there was some clunking on the other end of the line, and then Sam resumed, if whispered. "I'm worried about him. He's got a history of taking things badly, and I just don't want him to feel alone right now."

"Seriously? What is he going through that means you have to stay with him all weekend?"

"One of his brothers died, Dean, in a car accident."

There was a pause, as Dean's brain suddenly seemed to have upended itself.

"Oh." He managed. Then, "shit."

"Yeah. Hey, you should call Castiel, I haven't heard from him since we got the news…"

"Yeah, ok, I'll… catch you tomorrow? I've got something we need to talk about."

"Ok… you alright?"

"Yeah, it's nothing bad. Just… see you."

He hung up, before instantly dialling Cas' phone. No answer

Four tries later, still no answer. The next day, he had nothing to do but wait until Sam got back from classes, which really could have been any time.

He grabbed his jacket, skipped breakfast and headed straight for the door, feeling the road tear away underneath himself. He couldn't sit around waiting, not when he had someone who could very well need him. When he got to Castiel's office, he found Becky with a queue of people waiting to be booked in, each apparently waiting for their appointments. Feeling the dramatic moment bypass him somewhat, Dean flashed Becky an awkward smile and took a seat.

"He'll see you in a while." Becky said, navigating Castiel's schedule. "I guess you heard about his loss?"

"Yeah. Is he ok?"  
>"He won't talk to me about it, but I'm sure you'll help him." She smiled at him, and went about checking off appointments.<p>

Dean waited. And waited.

He was starting to think maybe he should have stayed home and kept calling, because at least then he would have been waiting on comfier chairs. After an hour or so, he realised Becky was motioning for him to go in, and quietly slipped through the door.

Cas looked up at him, and quickly looked away.

"You don't have an appointment today."

"No, I wanted to see you." Dean was a little taken aback by Cas' avoidance. "Sam told me about your brother, you weren't answering your phone…"

"I think it would be best, in future, if you make appointments, should you wish to see me. I can no longer find it viable to speak with patients outside of office hours."

"What? Cas, I'm not a patient…"

"It puts my professionalism at risk and endangers the mental well-being of the patient in question."

"Cas, it's me. Dean. I'm not a patient, I don't need therapy."

"Really?" Castiel's eyes were on him too fast, too intense. His voice was a dangerous, forced level which somehow seemed worse than if he was shouting. "Then help me diagnose a man, Dean. He is in denial, he is apparently a compulsive liar. He is ashamed of himself, that much is obvious from his continuing a job which he could easily have advanced beyond. He could have gotten qualifications, gotten a decent job, could still get a decent job, but is so afraid, feels so uncomfortable with the idea of succeeding that he can't face the idea of trying." Cas stood and glared at Dean, his knuckles whitened against the desk. "His condition has extended on, into his personal life. He cannot admit to his family, least of all himself, that he is a homosexual, even though he has entered into a deceptive, dishonest relationship with a man whom he led to believe he harboured genuine feelings f…"

His voice caught. He sank back into his chair.

Dean felt stuck to the spot.

"Cas…"

"What was the lie, Dean? Did you tell them, and lie to Sam about us? Or was it me? Did you just lie to me?"

"I just… wanted you to be…"

"Leave. I have other appointments."

Dean stared at him, his jaw working in an attempt to create sound.

"Cas…"

"Good day, Dean." He stood, pushed past Dean and nodded to Becky. "Send in the next appointment, please."

"Oh… yes, Doctor DiAngelo."

Dean was indirectly shunted from Castiel's office. Dean didn't know what to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N: Lawks-a-mercy! It's been ages since I updated, and I'm so sorry! Life has a horrible habit of getting in the way, doesn't it? Still, here's an update which will (hopefully) make up some of the lost ground for the people who are still reading this. And it shouldn't be quite as long until the next update, either.**

(*****)

"Cas."

"No. Good day, Mr Winchester."

"Cas, don't go all antsy and formal on me, I…"

"You are disturbing my patient."

Dean hammered on the closed office door, fully aware that Becky was picking ineffectively at his sleeve in an attempt to get him to stop.

"She's at a psych office, how much more disturbed can she get…" Dean growled, and hammered on the door some more. "Cas, dammit, at least let me explain."

"Get out of my office, Mr Winchester."

"Cas…"

"Dean." Becky finally found her voice, her hands shaking as she patted Dean's back. "Maybe you should… give him some space."

"But I just… If I could explain…"

"I'll talk to him." She smiled, the sympathetic, pitying sort of smile that Dean hated to be on the receiving end of. "I will. But… You should probably leave, for now at least."

Trying his best to leave his pride less than totally annihilated, and realising that a stony silence had fallen on the other side of Cas' door, Dean ducked his head and dragged his feet back to the Impala.

Meanwhile, Cas was biting his lip and forcing himself to sit still and silent. He couldn't react badly if he didn't react at all.

(-*-)

Dean tried to call Cas. He tried to visit him. He tried to call Becky. He wasn't far from just waiting around outside Castiel's apartment, knowing that eventually he'd have to come out for food, or air, or anything. He knew that, if he could just talk, he'd be able to explain.

But, he realised, with a gnawing sense of dread that grew every time he heard the phone line go dead, he was starting to doubt he had much to explain.

Over the two days after he humiliated himself in Cas' office, he found himself getting more and more familiar with the idea that he had utterly blown his chances.

(-*-)

The car's interior was beige, leathery and sickeningly cool. It spoke of a lot of money and not much responsibility.

"Not bad, for a rental." Balthazar flashed a thin-lipped smile, aware that Castiel hadn't said a word since he'd pulled up outside the apartment and made a joke about weddings and funerals. Even then, that word had been 'hello'.

"Are we picking up Gabriel?"

"He said he'd make his own way, if he went at all."

"Oh."

Balthazar drove on in silence. If he'd known Michael's funeral was going to be this depressing, he wouldn't have bothered going.

"So…" Balthazar tried again, after a while, "how are you?"

"My brother, whom I have not spoken with since I was fifteen years old, died in a car accident, and I am about to attend his funeral. My second brother, whom I have always privately deemed more dysfunctional than me, not only seems to have a better, more stable love-life than me, but also seems to think I only exist as a sounding-board for his insecurities. My own love-life, which has up until now greatly resembled a particularly hideous fairground ride, was for one moment a shining, glorious sunscape until Dean Winchester decided not only to lie to my face, but to lie behind my back as well. I am angry, tired and resigned to my fate as a pathetic excuse for a human being. And how are you?"

Balthazar stared at the road ahead of them.

"Mustn't grumble… where is this cemetery?"

The cemetery was a further hour's drive away. In the end, Castiel turned his phone off altogether. He couldn't stand watching as the voicemail picked up missed call after missed call.

If Balthazar noticed, he didn't say anything.

The cemetery was an old one, surrounded by thick, groomed forests and filled with chipped, weathered headstones. The Di Angelo family stood around the mahogany coffin as it was lowered into the ground, silent as the graves they stood by. And, for once, Castiel felt certain.

(-*-)

"You're sure you'll be alright?"

The voice roused Dean from his slumber, and he really wished it hadn't. _Go away, voice._

"And what about Murdock?"

_I give up, _thought Dean, _what about Murdock?_

He was very hung-over at this point. Well… no, actually, he was pretty sure he was still drunk. He wasn't happy. Or comfortable. Where the hell was he, anyway? Because it was definitely not bed.

"No," the voice continued, getting louder. And more familiar.

_Oh, _thought Dean, _crap._

"No, Balthazar's staying in a hotel for the rest of the holidays… He said he was bored with England, which I think meant he has many outstanding warrants on his head… mm." The voice hummed an agreement.

Dean, using every ounce of strength he could muster, opened his eyes.

It was daylight. He was inside. That was a plus.

Not his apartment. That was a minus.

Where was he?

"Yes, Gabriel, I…" Dean fell backwards, as the thing he was leaning on suddenly disappeared. He blinked up from the floor, and found two very blue eyes staring back at him. Castiel stared down, shocked and unimpressed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.

"Alright, I have to go. Have a nice tour. Give my regards to Pamela." He hung up the cell phone that was tucked between his ear and shoulder, and tucked it back into his pocket before staring down at Dean again. "I told you to go home."

"You did?" Dean croaked, his own raspy voice surprising him.

"At about two o'clock this morning. Balthazar brought me back from Michael's funeral, and you were out here waiting for me."

Dean thought about this.

"Was I drunk?"

"You still are."

"M'not."

"Then why are you on the floor?"

Dean didn't answer.

"Move, please, I can't shut the door."

"No. No, Cas, I came here to talk to you."

"So you said."

"I did?"

"Very loudly, and insistently, between the hours of two and three."

"Really?"

"Yes, I think you must have fallen asleep around then."

Cas stared down at Dean for another second, before turning and walking back into the apartment. Dean, seeing his opportunity, scrambled to his feet (wobbled, held back the urge to vomit, decided to push through the pain) and followed Cas inside. Cas had made his way through to the kitchen area (a modest black and white tile affair with stainless steel appliances and a round wooden table), and was busying himself with his breakfast.

"Wait, so you didn't let me sleep on the couch?"

"No."

"Why? I mean, I get that you're mad at me…"

"Mad?" Castiel repeated, stopping halfway through clearing dishes. He dropped the dishes in the sink with a level of force that sliced through Dean's queasy brain. "No, Dean, I am not 'mad'. I was 'mad' at Gabriel when he used my apartment for something close to an orgy. I was 'angry' at Michael when he broke up with Pamela after she had her accident. I was 'furious' with my parents when they disowned me. But you… your behaviour is something I cannot even find words for."

"And… yeah, I get that."

"Do you? Do you really? Do you understand how much I risked for you? Dating a patient? A patient who I… I believed was…" Cas stared at the floor. "Get out of my apartment, Dean."

Dean felt the familiar, ground-falling-out-from-under-him sensation that he'd felt in Castiel's office.

"No, Cas…"

"Go, Dean."

"No, I just… so I lied. Big whoop. Everyone lies, Cas, it's how people get by. You can't just go around telling the truth all the time-"

"Don't act like this is some grand question of ethics!" Cas looked like he was about to throw one of the chairs at Dean. "You told me you were out. You told me you'd come to terms with yourself. You hadn't, haven't, clearly, and you continue to lie to your family about us, seemingly with no comprehension of the sort of painful position that puts me in."

"Cas…"

"It's as good as cheating on a person, Dean, and it's not something I can abide in a relationship."

"Oh, apart from the one with Crowley, you mean."  
>"That…" Cas started, hurt, before looking away. "That's exactly why I won't put up with men like you any more, Dean."<p>

"Men like me? I'm nothing like Crowley! Cas, I didn't mean to hurt you or anything…"

"Then why lie, Dean?"

"You know what, forget it, maybe I don't need you."

"Lying. Again. You wouldn't be here if…"

"Cas, don't turn your back on me…"

Dean grabbed Cas' shoulder.

Cas shrugged him off.

Dean grabbed his shoulder again.

Cas turned to push him away.

Dean grabbed Cas' shirt with both hands to get his eye contact.

Cas grabbed Dean's wrists and tried to prize the hands away.

Dean's hands were on Cas' neck.

Cas' hands were on Dean's biceps.

There was a second, a half a second, a moment, in which they shared the same breath. They gasped, taking all the air from the short space between them and creating a sort of vacuum. A vacuum of charged, free space that was filled with so much intoxicating potential.

One rough hand pulling at the back of his neck, the other slipping to his waist, Cas felt himself being swept up into a deep, passionate kiss as Dean manoeuvred him around, away from the pile of dishes. He felt the table top bump into the underside of his ass.

"Dean…" Cas muttered against the other man's lips, not having the strength to pull away. Not that he even wanted to. But he did. But he didn't.

"I'll never do it again." Dean muttered back, his hands fisting in Cas' hair as he slipped between the psychiatrist's legs, just happy to find himself in the same space as the body that had haunted his mind for a week. The smell, the feel, the taste… things he didn't know he'd memorised until he'd been told he couldn't have them any more. "I promise, Cas, no more lies, nothing, just… Just do this for me, for us."

"Dean…" Cas tried again, his disobedient hands wrapping themselves around Dean's waist and finding their way up his back. Dean's tongue probed and pushed, and his hands trailed over Castiel's jaw and neck, down his chest.

The table behind them scraped a little against the floor as Cas let himself be pushed against it, leant down, the hard unvarnished wood lying underneath him as though it had been waiting for this.

He knew he should fight it. He knew this wasn't going to help either of them. But he missed Dean. Wanted Dean so badly…

The continued kissing, lazier now, enjoying the tug and caress of each other's lips. Castiel could feel Dean's crotch pressed against his, and couldn't help rubbing his thigh against Dean's, eliciting a murmur of pleasure from the other man.

Dean's hands slipped to Castiel's belt buckle, and suddenly he felt the cool, fierce certainty that he had known by Michael's graveside fall into his brain. It was like an ice cube falling into a tall drink of water.

"No." Cas took Dean's wrists and pushed him back, standing up straight and staring at him. His lips were red and puffy from kissing, and his eyes were petulant and lust-filled. Castiel wasn't going to let Dean's lust get the better of him, though.

"Cas…"

"No. You said you needed to talk to me. Well, maybe I need to talk to you, too. We can't do this; I won't let us fall into this destructive pattern of replacing real resolution with sex."

Dean closed his eyes, and sank heavily into one of the kitchen chairs.

"I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry I lied. Does that… I mean, I know it doesn't make it better, but…"

"Why?" Castiel straightened his shirt and sat opposite Dean, his half-achieved arousal making it very difficult to appear the unbiased psychologist. "Why did you lie to me?"

"It was… I hadn't meant to." Dean looked up at him, tired and sad, and Castiel had to get a choke hold on his urge to kiss the frown away. "You gotta know that, first of all, I never meant to lie to you, Cas. But… I messed up. I couldn't tell everyone, at Thanksgiving, I just couldn't. I tried, and I chickened out, and… when I went to tell you, I was afraid you'd… I don't know… I mean, no one wants to hang out with someone that pathetic, right? And I panicked, and I lied, and it didn't seem like a big deal. But the longer I left it, the bigger it got." Dean shrugged, and Castiel was hit with another wave of wanting to hold him. Wanting to protect him. Another wave of that realisation that Dean was just as fragile, if not moreso, than anyone else. He hated himself, he didn't think himself worth half as much as any other human being, and he could not see what Castiel saw.

Castiel saw a man trying to be brave, a man trying so hard to admit and understand who he was. A man who had, as he so rightfully said, "messed up".

Castiel let those words sit in silence for a moment, before quietly turning on the coffee percolator.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about your father."


	16. Chapter 16

"Dad was a good guy," Dean began, sinking into Cas' couch. Castiel perched on the coffee table, their knees resting against each other. Dean couldn't quite meet his unrelenting gaze.

"Abusive, though?"

"It's what the judge said. I don't think he meant to, though. He never meant to. He got drunk a lot."

"And you think that excuses his behaviour?"

"Yeah… no. I mean, not… not totally, but you have to see it from his side. He'd lost Mom, lost his job, and gotten stuck with me and Sam, and I think he knew, deep down, that we weren't going to be the John Juniors he wanted. Not that he didn't love us, you know, he did, but I always got the feeling like he knew our lives were going to be messed up in a way he couldn't help, and he was trying to get us used to that. To make sure we knew how to take the bad with the good."

Cas continued to stare at him. Dean let his head fall back against the couch and stared up against the ceiling. He felt Castiel's hand on his knee, his thumb gently stroking the groove at the side of his kneecap.

They sat in silence.

"Sam got more of it than me," Dean continued, unprompted. "He was smaller, clumsier… Dad always treated him like he had more to prove. Like he needed the extra attention."

"Did Sam get much more attention?"

"Yeah. Like I said, he was younger, he needed it."

"And what about you?"

"I was the big brother. I didn't need as much, it was my job to look after Sam when Dad couldn't."

"And you were how old?"

"Christ, I don't know… I guess this was just the way it was, up until I moved in with Bobby and Ellen. Like, age twelve or something."

Another silent pause.

"How did Sam feel about the extra attention?"

"He didn't like it. Thought Dad was picking on him."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Dean managed to level Castiel with a scornful look.

"Really?"

"It's a simple enough question."

"You know, sometimes it's real hard to tell whether your being serious or not."

"Most people pay two hundred dollars an hour for that privilege. You're getting it for free. How did Sam's response make you feel?"

"Annoyed. He didn't get it. I wished Dad would care about me like that. I could do pretty much whatever I wanted and he wouldn't say a word. Sam runs with scissors and he got sense smacked into him. Because Dad was afraid of seeing him hurt himself."

"And what about after your father was arrested?"

"What about it?"

"How did you feel about Sam then?"

"It was me and him," Dean said, with a shrug. "I had to look out for him. That was just… it."

There was another pause, this time stretching on for a while. Dean's fingertips brushed the back of Cas' hand.

"When did you first begin to feel that you were gay?"

"Probably… really, when I was about ten. But I didn't have time to think about it, with Dad and Sam and everything."

"Did you not explore that aspect of your sexuality?"

"I thought Dad wouldn't like me. And then we moved in with Bobby and I had the same thing. 'Course, then everyone started thinking Sam was gay so I… I dunno. I figured he was the gay one, so I was just weird. Pushed it all away."

"And do you think that was healthy?"

"Fuck off, Cas." Dean sent him another glare, but couldn't help softening as he saw a wry smirk paint the other man's features. "No. It wasn't. But the longer I left it, the harder it was to say anything."

"That seems to be something of a pattern with you."

"They know, anyway. Bobby, Ellen… everyone. They know, and they're just waiting for me to say it to them. But every time I try… something gets in the way. There's something more important."

"Like what?"

"Sam's exams, Jo's high school graduation… Bobby needing help at the auto-yard… Just stuff, you know? It gets in the way, distracts me. There's just more important stuff to be worrying about than me and my issues."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You are important."

Dean stared at the ceiling again, and didn't say anything. Without breaking the silence, Cas moved next to him on the couch, and rested a hand on his shoulder, watching his lips turn white as he bit into them, and watching his eyes screw themselves shut.

The silence stretched on.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be alright if I kissed you?"

Dean nodded, and Cas pressed his lips to Dean's neck. Dean's jaw set again, before he eventually relaxed enough to let his lips part.

"I don't feel important."

"Ever?"

Dean turned his head, looking down at Cas, before turning away again.

"Not when I'm on my own."

He didn't move as Cas kissed his jaw again, his arms tensing as he felt Castel's warmth against them.

"It's ok to need someone, Dean… It's ok to be weak sometimes."

If Dean had started to cry then, Castiel would never say anything. Such was the confidentiality of these sorts of conversations.

(-*-)

Castiel and Dean did not sleep together that day. They sat on the couch and talked, probing into Dean's past and discussing what may or may not have been the root of his problems with intimacy and understanding his own worth. Cas told him that there was no one cause, no simple fix, and that if he wanted to get better, he would have to change his whole way of thinking.

Dean asked if Cas would be there to help him.

Cas said he would.

The next day, Castiel's phone bleeped just as his last appointment entered the office. The text from Dean was short, but carried a wealth of meaning.

"Want to hang out this evening?"

Castiel smiled a quick hello to his patient, before sending a simple "I'm free from 6".

At 6:05, Dean arrived at Castiel's front door with a six pack of beer and a sorry smile. Cas had already prepared some chicken noodle soup for them both. They sat and talked, about everything and nothing, for hours.

This was a routine that carried on for almost a week, before the fateful phonecall from Pamela.

"Cas, honey, don't worry, but I'm going to need you over at Gabriel's as soon as possible. There's… something's up."


	17. Chapter 17

Gabriel DiAngelo was what Castiel termed a dramatic depressive, in that, although he would withdraw, keep secrets and internalise every single emotion he had, he would do so in a way that couldn't be seen as anything other than a cry for help. His brother, in a nutshell, was the kind to reach out with both hands, while turning away all the same. He was currently dealing with a prime example of this behaviour.

Gabriel's apartment smelled of alcohol, body odour and cheap take-out that was long past its best. For almost a week, Gabriel had been eating and drinking himself to death, or intending to, while lying to Cas, Sam and Pamela concerning his whereabouts. No one was pleased.

Sam had frogmarched the drunk and unruly Gabriel into the bathroom, leaving Pamela to calm the terrified Murdock, and leaving Cas to attempt some sort of a tidy up. Fetching a roll of heavy duty black plastic sacks from their hiding place beneath the kitchen sink, Castiel began to remove the collection of half empty bottles, prominently displayed throughout the apartment.

"I thought he'd gotten over this sort of behaviour," Pamela sighed, one hand scratching Murdock's ears and the other reaching out to Castiel. "I can't believe he'd do that to Sam."

"He had shown signs of improvement" Cas agreed, "but then, Michael's death is, I think, an understandable cause for such an… episode."

Pamela said nothing, and Castiel didn't invite any further conversation. They needed to focus on the job in hand, and complaining or conspiring would only make things more difficult. It took twenty minutes for Sam to finally emerge from the bathroom and wordlessly pick up another black sack and begin scraping off the film of grime that had accumulated over everything.

"How is he?"

"Wallowing in selfishness," Sam snapped, before clearing his throat and forcing a smile. "Sorry. He's… I know what he's doing. He's trying to push us all away. Talking crap just to make me want to leave."

Cas nodded.

"Gabriel knows how his words can hurt. He isn't in his right mind…"

"When is he?" Sam huffed a bitter laugh. Castiel felt increasingly uncomfortable.

"Sam… If you need to… to talk, about this, or about him…"

"No. It's fine. It's nothing. It's just… I'm kinda tired of it, you know? Of getting screwed at for trying to help. It's like, if he's in a bad mood, it's my fault. Fine. Except, if I'm in a bad mood, it's my fault too. Like, he's allowed to take everything out on me but I can't do anything the same? That's… That doesn't seem right to me. And It's getting tiring."

"You'll work it out." Pamela smiled. "You two are too cute to fail."

Sam didn't seem convinced. Cas continued cleaning in silence, accompanied by the guilty pangs as his thoughts drifted to Dean. This was Gabriel's crisis, and Sam's, and he should be there, helping them. But his mind wouldn't stop drifting. He chided himself and tried to focus on what he might say to Gabriel to help him through this episode, but it wasn't enough to pull his thoughts away from the happy, tender moments he'd shared with Dean.

Why did it always seem to be that, the moment he started having a romantic life worth talking about, it became incredibly tactless to do so?

(-*-)

Dean was sprawled on his bed when his phone rang.

"Hey."

"Dean. No doubt you've heard from Sam already?"

"Yeah… Him and Gabriel, are they… over, now, or..?"

"I don't know. I think they're just giving themselves a cooling off period, but… who knows if they'll ever resolve this. "

Dean sighed.

"And I guess you phoned up to say we should give each other some distance?"

"Dating in secrecy has long since lost the illicit thrill for me, and broaching the subject of our… of us, after today's events… seems uncaring."

"Yeah. It sucks though."

"Yes."

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I… I want to say thanks. For, you know, being there."

"Thank you, Dean… there's no reason we can't still speak to one another, even if we're not… physically…"

Cas trailed off, and Dean couldn't help smirking at his awkwardness.

"I could always use someone to talk to. You know me, my issues have issues…. So, other than the whole Gabriel thing, how've you been?"

(-*-)

Steam drifted up from the collected mugs of coffee, pooling around the shaded bulb of Ellen's kitchen.

"This shit won't fly." She shook her head. "They need each other. Who else'd be crazy enough to put up with them?"

Everyone nodded, grumbling agreement.

"Sam's been moping around non-stop." Dean picked up his coffee. "He seems to be the only person who thinks not talking is going to fix whatever the hell's going on with him which, by the way, is a pain in the ass. All the years he's been bleating on at me about talking through my feelings and chick-flick crap like that, now he's turning himself into some sort of zombie…"

"Yeah, he's an idjit," Bobby summarised, "but what are we going to do about it? We can't make 'em talk to each other."  
>"Yeah you can," Jo sniffed. "Just lock 'em in a room together and don't let them out."<p>

"That's more likely to end in murder, I think." Pamela said, raising her coffee mug to her lips. "For what it's worth."

Pamela had phoned Ellen earlier in the day, having found her number in her list of contacts as "Ellen Cool Chick From Spin Class", proving that it was, indeed, a small world after all.

"So you got any ideas?" Bobby said, before getting a grip on himself "Why am I even… I'm not involved. You ladies meddle to your heart's content, I'm staying out of it. I'm gonna go… fix a car or shoot something."

"Love you, hun," Ellen yelled after him, smiling. "So come on, let's get a plan together."

"Yeah, just… gimme a sec." Dean ran after Bobby, catching up with him just as he went through the front door to the autoyard, "hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm… I tried to say at Thanksgiving, but I guess I just couldn't. And… I think if I maybe tell you first, I can tell everyone else, at… you know, when it's right."

"Tell me what, son?"

"I'm… I'm gay."

And, if Dean had known he'd get such a smile off Bobby, and such a clap on the arm, he would have told him years ago.

"No shit, kid. But well done."

Grinning like he did when Ellen used to put his report cards on the fridge, Dean went back into the kitchen, and resumed plotting Sam and Gabriel's reunion. Bobby stared out at the cool evening sky, and figured he must have done something right.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean sucked air in through his teeth irritably, navigating through the sea of early morning rush hour traffic. He couldn't really remember where Gabriel's apartment was, so tensions were running high.

"If you'd just let me phone Pamela…" Ellen sighed, for the billionth time, knowing exactly what Dean was muttering under his breath in response.

Rumsfeld ruffed a sound of annoyance from the back seat, where he was lounging his rottweiller frame as much as the car would allow.

"He's going to need a bathroom break soon…"

"I know where I'm going."

"No you don't."

"I know enough."

"No you don't! Why can't I just call Pamela and ask for directions?"

"Because I don't need you to ask, I'm fine."

"What a stereotypical _male_ thing. Dean, I swear, sometimes, if you weren't my kid…"

"I'm not your kid, so go ahead."

"Dean! What is the matter with you?"

"I'm pissed off. I'm tired, I'm dragging my ass across town so we can convince Sam's boyfriend to get back together with him and I get to hear them having awkwardly-trying-to-be-quiet sex through my bedroom wall, Sam's pissing me off anyway, and I can't remember a time when I wasn't staring at some douchebag Porsche."

"A car can't be a douchebag."

"Can too, it has vanity plates."

Ellen sat forward and peered through the windshield.

"Daddi-3-sgal- oh I'm going to puke. Comment withdrawn."

"Thank you."

Ellen glanced at Dean, her lips pursed.

"Never get vanity plates."

"Hah. Yeah, no fear of that happening."

"I'm serious." Ellen reached into the glove box and withdrew a bag of Oreos. She opened it and began the cream excavation process. "If you, Sam and Ellen can make it through your life without getting vanity plates or misguided facial tattoos, I can die knowing I've been a good mother."

Dean chuckled, taking his hand from the wheel and waggling his fingers at Ellen. She handed over an Oreo, and held out her cream-covered finger for Rumsfeld to lick, before starting on the dry biscuits.

"I had a nightmare, actually, not long after you turned thirteen, where you came home and you were like, 'mom, mom, I got a tattoo!' And when I looked, you had clown make-up tattooed all over your face."

"What?" Dean laughed.

"Oh yeah, it was real horrible stuff, too. You looked like It. Every Halloween I have that nightmare now."

"Seriously?"

"Yup. Well, sometimes it changes. Sometimes you've just coloured in your entire face blue. Or green. Like camo paint." Dean was in hysterics now, glancing as Ellen stared out of the window, her eyes narrowed at her thoughts. "And I always scream at you and ask you where the shit you got a full face tattoo, and then you say it was Chuck. E Cheese, and I'm like, when did Chuck. E Cheese start doing _tattoos_?"

Dean was laughing so hard his eyes were watering as he brought the car to yet another stop.

"Have you got a plan for when we get there?"

"Slap the little SOB around the head 'til he wisens up?"

"Hasn't worked on Sam."

"Yeah, Sam suffers from permanent altitude sickness." Ellen sniffed. "You got any ideas?"

"Stand back and look menacing." Dean grinned. "Usually works." The grin faded as silence descended on the traffic. "Ellen?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm… gay."

"I know, sweetie. I'm the one who had to tidy up your room all those years you had a crush on that boy from school. But thank you for telling me."

Dean smiled, still feeling like there was a flock of butterflies in his stomach.

Was it called a flock? A flutter? A gathering?

"Who is he?"

"Huh?"

"I presume you've got a special guy, if you're coming out to me."

"I… maybe. We're kind of… cooling it, for now. Figured with Sam being the way he is, it wouldn't be tactful, you know?"

"Mm. Well, I hope I get to meet him soon. He's very lucky to have a guy like you."

Dean flushed a little, and looked out of the window. Suddenly, light broke through the clouds and a heavenly choir descended.

"Hey! That's it! That's Gabriel's!"

"Oh thank god. Park up, let's get in there. And… Dean, take some advice from the ol' lady?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't give up anything that you deserve. Sure, don't flaunt it in his face, but there's no reason to sacrifice your happiness on account of Sam. Just… my experience." She smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and waited for the car to be parked up properly. She got out and fetched Rumsfeld from the back seat, leaving Dean momentarily mired in a flash flood of thoughts.

(-*-)

Dean had to admit, no matter how arduous the journey had been, it was worth it to watch Gabriel getting beaten up by a blind woman and, you know, his mom. In fact, as soon as Gabriel had opened the door (which took a lot of effort, apparently), Pam was hitting him with her cane.

You utter god-damned idiot." Ellen stood in Gabriel's doorway, Rumsfeld at her ankles, looking like a pretty formidable woman. Gabriel didn't look like he particularly wanted to be accosted at this hour of the morning, but Dean figured he should suck it up and deal with it, because no one looked like they were going anywhere.

"Ok," Gabriel sighed, playing the wounded idiot card for all it was worth, "Fine. Yes, I'm a tool, yes, I broke poor Sammy's heart and I'm sorry, it's not him it's me…"

"Oh get over yourself." Ellen shoved him in the shoulder.

Gabriel turned to Dean. Dean laughed, pretty sure that Gabriel could whistle for it.

"Dude, you're on your own here. Oh, and Jo says you're an idiot too, but she had to go back to college."

"Yeah, she says you're a total utter moron." Ellen continued beating up Gabriel, which Dean had to admit made him glad he'd driven out there. "How could you let Sam run away?"

"I didn't… he… what did you want me to do, take him hostage?"

"You weren't supposed to let him go!"

"But he wanted to!"

"Oh, Sam's never known what he wanted; why else d'you think he's still in education?" Ellen was getting wound up, and Dean had no inclination to calm her down. He was the one who'd had to put up with Zombie-Sam mooching around the apartment acting like he'd had to kill his own puppy. If anyone should be knocking Gabriel about, Dean thought, it should be him. "Gabriel, Sam has spent his whole life running away from what's good for him. He needs you to tell him to stop it. He needs to know that you're going to commit to him. Words aren't enough, hun, you need actions."

"Gabriel…" A voice came from a bed-headed blonde man, who had so far been invisible on the other side of the sofa. "What time is it, who are these people and make me breakfast."

The blonde man was shirtless. Dean stared at Gabriel. Gabriel stared back.

"This better not be how it looks."

"Cousin! He's my cousin!" Gabriel exclaimed, with so much urgency that Dean was inclined to believe him.

"Ooh!" Pamela smiled, throwing herself down on the couch. "Balthazar's still here?"

"Pamela." Balthazar smiled, suddenly very alert indeed. Gabriel, to his credit, looked like he was clinging on to the last few shreds of whatever it was that kept him together. Maybe Dean had been too quick to judge, but now he had a proper look around the place, and at Gabriel, it seemed like he might have been taking things as hard as Sam. Between the two of them, Sam and Cas had given Dean a fairly good understanding of how the break-up had happened. So Gabriel had probably been made to swear off drink or anything like that, but it seemed to Dean he'd replaced the urge to drink or smoke or eat with tidying. The apartment was spotlessly clean, but not presented with any care or attention.

Dean wondered if this was what suddenly losing someone you loved did to you.

Then he realised he already knew the answer to that.

Gabriel was ranting, and Dean snapped back to attention.

"If you want to be anything other than in the most abject misery, get the hell out of my apartment. Now."

Balthazar and Pamela edged quietly out of the apartment. Dean took this as his cue to leave, suddenly feeling nauseous, but this earned him a funny look from Gabriel.

"What? You said 'anyone who's hoping to get lucky'… I mean, I'm not… not with them… Fuck it, I'm going to starbucks." Dean left, quickly. He slipped past Pamela and Balthazar, who were wasting no time in getting handsy, and out into the car park. He tramped around in a circle, trying to shake off the feeling of nausea, and then, without really knowing what he was doing, he took his phone out of his pocket and hit the first name under "c" in his address book.

"Castiel DiAngelo speaking…"

"When mom died, I think Dad did pretty much the same as Gabriel."

"… good morning, Dean. One moment, please."

Dean heard a hissing, clunking sound as Castiel boiled the kettle.

"Would you like to come around for this conversation?"

"Can't… I just, need to get it out. Now."

"Very well. Go ahead."

"I lost Mom pretty quick. She wasn't ill, it was an accident. Gas explosion at the house. It was a miracle me, Dad and Sam were downstairs at the time and didn't get caught up in the blast. But after she… passed on, I guess, Dad kind of shut down. He wanted us to live well, he knew he had a responsibility to us, but he stopped caring about himself. And then, I guess, it kind of grew into hating us. Me and Sam, I mean. He got resentful that he had to stay alive to look after us. He… I don't know what happened to him once we got taken away. But, I think the thing that scared me most about being in the courtroom and everything, when the judge said he wasn't fit… he wasn't angry or scared or anything… he kind of looked relieved. Like he was glad. It… didn't seem right."

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

"Why did you phone me, Dean?"

"I… I've seen people give up things because they thought it was better they went without. And I've had to do it myself. And I don't think this, us, you and me… I don't think this is one of those things."

Cas was silent for what felt like a long time. Dean closed his eyes, and felt the ground spinning slightly beneath him.

"Meet me at my office, five o clock." Castiel said, eventually, "We can go for dinner."

Dean hung up the phone, feeling so much better. Then, stuck for anything else to do, he lay down in the car and waited for Ellen to be done torturing Gabriel.


	19. Chapter 19

When Dean got to Castiel's office, the waiting room was empty, except for Becky, who almost jumped him when he came through the door.

"Oh!" She jumped backwards, blushing bright crimson. "I… Sorry. I thought you might have been my asshole boyfriend finally here to apologise."

"No, sorry… Is this a new fight or the same one you were having last time?"

"New fight." She sniffed, before returning to her computer. "I won't bother you with it. Doctor DiAngelo has a few minutes left with his last appointment, but you can wait for him if you want."

Dean nodded and sat down. He watched as Becky typed furiously into the computer. Whatever she was typing, it clearly required a lot of energy and, if her combined scowl and vicious grin were anything to go by, wouldn't make for happy reading. After a while she sat back, gave a slow, fierce smile, and stared at the door. Sure enough, Dean watched in wonder as five seconds later, a scruffy, bearded man burst through the door.

"Seriously? I'm ten minutes late picking you up and you tell Facebook you've dumped me for Garth?!"

"No, I told tumblr. Guess I forgot to unlink my accounts like you asked, you pro-patriarch."

The guy, most likely the infamous "Chuck" Dean had tried not to hear so much about, stared at her with confusion evident on his face.

"What? I don't… whatever, look, can you delete the status update and we'll go to the movies? Please?"

"I don't see why I should," She crossed her arms. "Just because you're an artist, I shouldn't let you get the better of me by constantly abusing my…"

"I'll get us an extra large popcorn."

Becky's eyes lit up and she was almost instantly in his arms, and they left together, without so much as waving goodbye to Dean.

Left in the wake of hurricane Becky, in a quiet waiting room with nothing to do, Dean took his phone out of his pocket. He fiddled with it idly for a few moments, before scrolling through his phonebook and dialling Jo.

"Hey Dean." Jo greeted him brightly.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Not much. Going out in a little while, making friends with the people in my lectures."

"Don't get too drunk."

"Dean. If you're going to get all big-brotherly I'm going to hang up."

"Sorry." He chuckled. "Listen, I… I've gotta tell you something, and I want to tell you before Bobby or Ellen does."

Jo was quiet for a moment that felt agonisingly long. "Ok…"

"I, uh… You know Sam's gay?"

"Yes…"

"Well, uh, me too. Not, with him, duh, but, yeah. I'm gay."

The noise Jo made forced Dean to hold the phone away from his ear.

"OhmygoshohmygoshDeeeeeeean that's such amazing news that you told me!" She stopped for breath. "Does Sam know?"

"No, I think he's got enough going on right now."

A noise from behind Dean's shoulder got his attention. He turned to see Castiel standing in the doorway to his office, a small smile playing over his lips. Dean tried to fight back his embarrassment.

"Look, Jo, I've gotta go. Have fun, and uh, stay safe."

"You too."

"Bye."

"Remember, don't tap it before you wrap it."

"Yeah, bye." Dean hung up, hating his sister just a little bit. He pocketed his phone, and stood up as Castiel's last appointment walked past him and out of the door. He smiled sheepishly at Castiel. "That was, uh…"

"I know." Castiel smiled again, grabbing his coat from the hook behind his door. "Let's save it for dinner conversation. Would you mind eating at mine?"

(-*-)

Castiel's flat, while never normally too untidy, was covered from wall to wall in books. And what wasn't covered in books was littered with essays and papers.

"I have decided to retire from teaching," he said by way of explanation, "but apparently this means I am expected to do double the paperwork, and cover every lesson, between now and my leaving."

"Shit." Dean surmised.

"Yes. Would you like pasta for dinner, or chicken?"

What followed was something so unfortunate that Dean had to ask how Castiel had kept himself alive since every item of food he touched seemed to combust on contact, and Castiel muttered some very rude words in response. To save him some dignity, know only that Castiel was never the cook of his family, and unfortunately Dean had never been much good either, meaning that by the next hour, something that called itself lasagne was lurking in the bottom of the bin, and Castiel had ordered Chinese take out.

"Thijh wajh a goo' igea." Dean mumbled, through a mouthful of noodles.

"Mm," Castiel nodded in agreement, before patting at his mouth with a "Golden Yummy Cat Cheer" paper napkin. "Now. Earlier, when you were on the phone to your sister… was that about what I thought?"

Dean nodded slowly.

"I've told everyone. Except Sam."

"Perhaps that's best."

"Cas, why aren't we together?"

Castiel looked up from his plate of Szechuan beef, and swallowed slowly.

"Because. We both agreed, Dean. It's for the best…"

"Well maybe I'm fed up of dong what's for the best." It came out with slightly more venom than Dean had intended, but he felt he was right. "I tried to be straight because it was 'for the best', I've let Sam run himself into the ground between work and school because I thought it was 'for the best', now you're telling me it's best if I lose out on us too?"

"I'm not saying never." Castiel set his plate down on the coffee table, before knitting his fingers together and nervously tensing his hands. "I just feel that being in a relationship while our brothers…"

"Forget them." Dean pushed his plate away, before standing up and pacing awkwardly in Catsiel's cramped apartment. "Their love lives aren't our responsibilities. You're the psychologist, isn't there something in one of your books about this?"

"Dean, I don't think the universe is ready for a state of affairs in which I am in a relationship and Gabriel is not…"

"Do you want me around, or not?"

"Of course I do."

"You're not acting like it."

Castiel ran his hands through his hair, clearly annoyed that they'd ended up on this subject. He stared into space for a moment, and Dean found himself suddenly paralysed with fear by the idea of Cas deciding that he really didn't want him around after all.

Castiel stood, a few crumbs of rice snaps falling from his shirt. He straightened his tie, stepped neatly around the table and took Dean's hands in his.

"Dean, you are the single most infuriating patient I have ever had to treat, the last person on Earth I would have ever thought I would want to be with, and quite definitely the most clueless man I have ever met. But you are brave, and good, and I can't help but want you in my life. I'm…"

Castiel smirked, hesitating as he looked up into Dean's eyes.

"You're not ready to hear what I am. But I want you here. I want us together."

"So let's be together." Dean brushed his nose against Castiel's, stealing a kiss.

"Not until Sam and Gabriel are happy again. I couldn't do that to them, Dean."

"What if they don't know?" Dean went to steal another kiss, but Castiel pulled back.

"If I give you tonight, if I let us be together for tonight, then it will be the last time, until our brothers are happy."

Dean considered this ultimatum. Did he want to be reminded of exactly what he would be missing? Would it be wise? Would caving in to this, basic bribery, show that he'd not actually learned a thing from the past few months? Would it be weak of him to leave in the morning, more content in some regards, but still with a task instead of an answer? In a nutshell, the question was one that Dean had often faced before. Did he want gratification (in the form of Cas and pure physical joy) now, or did he want to prove to himself that-

Dean must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, he was pushing Castiel down onto the bed and fumbling with his shirt buttons. This was probably evidence of some deep-seated issues, but screw it, thought Dean, he wasn't the psychologist.


	20. Chapter 20

Being recently boned and reminded of exactly what his mission was, Dean left Castiel's apartment and marched on back to his car.

This left Castiel with the ludicrous amount of work he had to do.

He poured himself some coffee, sat down at his desk, and started marking papers. I he burned his way through, really tried hard, he could probably get through half of it before his appointments this afternoon.

Probably.

The apartment was oddly silent, oddly empty, with just him, his marking pen, and his colossal stack of papers.

He tried to keep his treacherous mind away from thoughts of Dean. He needed to focus.

But.

Dean.

He hadn't told Dean the real reason he was so eager to quit before the next term started. He hadn't fully expressed to Dean how desperate he was to not have that on him.

Dean had his own problems.

And it wasn't anything major, Cas could deal with it.

He'd just set himself a deadline, that was all.

After the New Year, Castiel would no longer be teaching. No more essays, no more students, no more avoiding the staff lounge because…

Just, no more.

B plus, a solid foundation, but could be expanded upon.

It had been alright for Dean. Once he'd found out, he'd never had to see Crowley again. And their relationship had been very different to begin with.

But Castiel had seen Crowley almost every day. The staff lounge, the cafeteria… even just walking from A to B on campus.

And it actually hurt.

To see the face of someone who had, even if you'd suspected it all along, betrayed you.

B, insightful, but needs further development.

Crowley had been true enough to his word. Hadn't approached Castiel, attempted to talk to him, had barely even looked at him. But he was still there. It was like having pictures of a dead man, a constant reminder of what had been, a constant invitation to feel betrayed all over again, a completely passive emotional trigger. Irritating for his lack of acknowledgement, painful for his presence at all.

C minus, watch your personal opinions getting in the way of your analysis.

No more, though. Whatever it was, however you summed it up, it wasn't going on any more.

Some would say this meant Crowley had "won", chasing Castiel out of his job.

F. Depressing.

The fact was, it had been a relationship, or Castiel had thought of it as one. And this… this was the result of the truth. The fall out. The push Castiel needed to finally admit that he hated teaching, hated marking essays, and hated, beyond all logical reasoning, hated looking out over a sea of blank faces who heard that psychology was a good career path.

A plus. A plus, A. Please take these credits and transfer to a course you actually want to be doing, psychology is clearly a waste of your talents.

His phone rang, and he answer it without looking up from the papers.

"Castiel DiAngelo's phone, whom may I say is calling?"

"Cas, guess what?" Dean's voice shot through the small amount of mental integrity Castiel had.

"What?"

"Dude, I don't know what Ellen said to him, but Gabriel's been setting up his own plan to get back with Sam. He doesn't do things by halves."

"No, no he doesn't. When you say plan..?"

"It involves renting a freaking theatre, on New Year's Eve."

"That sounds like a Gabriel plan."

"Yeah… Gabriel will probably call you in, like, ten minutes to let you in on the plan so act surprised."

"I shall practice."

Dean chuckled.

"What are you doing?"

"Marking papers."

"You sound so happy about that."

"You see, this is why I said I'd need to practice."

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No."

"Ok, if you were having breakfast, would you prefer a cinnamon bagel or a plain one?"

Castiel furrowed his brow, sitting back from his papers.

"Original?"

"With sweet filling or savoury?"

"Dean, why are you asking me about bagels?"

"Because I have a fetish. Why do you think I'm asking you about Bagels, Cas?"

"Savoury filling."

"I think… a Classic New Yorker. Alright, catch you later."

Dean hung up, and Castiel returned to his papers, slightly confused and entirely distracted. He was tempted to just give everyone a B and finish now, so he could sit there thinking about Dean guilt free for a little while.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Castiel dragged himself over, prepared to courteously dismiss any girl scouts or too-early carollers, only to be confronted with a delicious smelling paper bag thrust under his nose.

"Let's goof off today." Dean grinned.

"I have appointments this afternoon," Castiel replied, regaining his personal space from the bagels. Dean shrugged.

"This morning, then. Sam and Gabriel will be back together by New Year's, let's just… goof off."

Castiel set his features, looking for a moment like he might, just might, be able to be a serious and responsible adult.

But then Dean stepped towards him, glanced down at the floor and bit his lip, before his eyes flicked up again to meet Castiel's. He smirked.

Castiel almost visibly melted.

"You're not going to accept any negative answer, are you?"

"Nope."

Cas heaved a sigh, and took the bagels from Dean.

"I suppose it would be rude to refuse baked goods."

(-*-)

The plan, as it was, was this.

Dean, Bobby, Jo, and Ellen were to coerce Sam into attending Pamela's first solo stand up tour. Castiel and Balthazar would be backstage, providing emotional support for the opening act, AKA Gabriel. Gabriel would make a big, publically humiliating show of himself, then Sam would be taken backstage and he and Gabriel would have a big heart to heart, kiss, make up, and everyone else would get to watch a show.

That was the plan. But first, quite worryingly, came Christmas.

It was worrying, because Dean had a very finite amount of money. He managed to pick up some girly crap for Jo… socks, lip gloss, a party make-up set… plus some feminist literature, because she always appreciated that, and a lesson at a kick-boxing dojo.

For Sam, chocolate coated coffee beans, and an alarm clock that had painted on the face "time to sleep", "time to wake up" and "time to chill out" instead of numbers were the safe bets, but he had no idea what else to get. Socks, he figured, and a couple of fancy legal pads.

Bobby got a face/ass bathroom kit, Ellen would hopefully appreciate the "Southern Mama's Big Book'a'Cookin'" in the humour with which it was intended, and if not, she could join Jo at the kick-boxing lesson.

That left one person to buy for, and Dean really was clueless.

All his brain was giving him was "blue" and "psychology related". He tried to think hard, really hard.

Were they ready for sex toy related gifts? Would Cas appreciate it if they were?

He thought of the colossally burned pasta, and considered a cook book.

Season tickets for the local ice rink? Cas had enjoyed the ice hockey game…

Something personal? Monogrammed?

Cheap.

When he eventually slipped away from Zomboid Sam and made it around o Castiel's, on Christmas Eve Eve, he still wasn't sure about his gifts.

He held the wrapped gifts under Castiel's nose, not quite managing to hold eye contact.

"They suck."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, before grabbing Dean by the shoulders and walking him over to the couch. Castiel sat down next to him, taking the gifts and putting them on the coffee table before leaning forward and hugging him, brushing his lips against Dean's neck.

"I normally get three presents. One from Gabriel, one from Pamela, and one from Murdock."

"Gabriel's dog?"

Castiel kissed Dean's jaw, and then kissed him on the lips. "The fact you thought to give me a present at all means more to me than you can possibly imagine."

Dean returned the kiss, smiling.

"They're seriously crappy. But you're welcome."

Castiel smiled up at Dean, before glancing over at his gifts.

"You can open them now," Dean shrugged, "if you…"

Castiel moved surprisingly quickly, his fingers fumbling through the wrapping paper. The first gift was a pair of new ties, one a silver blue with blue diamonds over the top, and the other a novelty one, with a team of reindeer running up it. The second gift contained a season pass to the ice rink, for recreational use or t watch any of the scheduled shows. And the third gift was a poster. The picture on the poster was a landscape, one of those beautifully photographed Nordic landscapes, with a lake and icy mountains and pine trees, with blue water and blue sky.

There was a caption underneath the picture. It read "I know I'm a confused, annoying dick at times, so when I drive you crazy you can look at this and chill out."

Castiel smiled at Dean, and kissed him again.

"You don't have to pretend to like them," Dean muttered, but was silenced as Castiel kissed him again.

"I love them. They're perfect."

"Thanks… I love you, Cas."

Dean didn't have time to breathe before his mouth was full of Castiel's tongue.

Castiel finally broke away, staring into Dean's face. "Say that again."

"What…"

"You know what."

"No, come on, don't…" Dean tried to shy away, but Cas had hold of his face, and it was easy to grab him by the shoulders and hold him there. "Cas…"

"I love you, Dean." Castiel smirked. "Does that make it less embarrassing? I love everything about you, even when you're a, as you say, 'confused, annoying dick'."

"Ouch." Dean chuckled, before suddenly summoning up his courage and grabbing Castiel's shoulders, rolling them over so he was pinning Castiel. "Alright. I love you. There, I said it, happy?"

"Extremely." Castiel grinned, before patting Dean's sides and pointing to one of the drawers in the coffee table. "You have a gift too. In there. It's not… much. But, I should give it to you."

There was, inside the drawer, a brown envelope. It contained a card, inside which was a cheque.

"What's this?"

"Refunding all of the money you paid me as a psychiatrist. I would feel wrong keeping it."

"No, Cas…"

"Shh. I will not allow you to not accept it. And there's more."

Dean emptied the envelope, and found two novelty voucher books. 'The Lover's cheque book', filled with coupons for "one free kiss", "one free screw" and so on, and the other was 'The Best Friend's cheque book', including "an evening in", "an evening out", "this round's on me" and "I will listen to whatever you have to say, without answering back".

Dean couldn't really think of anything to say to that. He thumbed through the lover's cheque book.

"Dean?"

"Hang on, I want to see what I can cash right now…"


	21. Chapter 21

Castiel woke with a start, his eyes flicking open in defence against the terrible scene that had unfolded in his dream, in hopes of stopping him from witnessing his own self splintering and bursting at the bottom of a well.

Staring around his room as he remembered the difference between awake and asleep, his eyes fell on the figure of Dean lying beside him, one arm thrown over his stomach. Castiel smiled, resting on his elbows as he let himself drink in Dean's presence.

He thought of them, then, as a couple, and what they'd been through. The fights, the make-ups, the conversations, the silences. It hadn't been long, but they'd somehow slipped irreversibly into each other's lives.

"Cas, man, you keep staring at me and I'll have to do something about it."

Castiel flushed pink as he realised Dean's eyes had opened.

"I wasn't staring at you," Castiel protested, caught off guard when Dean used the arm he had flung over his stomach to pull him closer.

"Oh no?"

"No, I was… staring into space. You just happened to occupy that space."

Dean laughed, and buried his face in Castiel's neck.

"Liar," he growled, his lips brushing Cas's skin. "You love me."

Cas couldn't help but smile.

"I seem to remember making an oath that we wouldn't be together until Sam and Gabriel have reconciled…"

"Yeah but I'm irresistible," Dean smiled, looking like a sleepy cat.

"And cocky." Castiel grunted as he sat up, swinging his legs around to touch the floor. "And responsible for breakfast."

"What?"

"I have papers to grade. The sooner I get done, the sooner you will have the attention you crave so badly."

"Yeah yeah." Dean rolled his eyes, slowly moving himself. Castiel was already pulling on boxers and shrugging on his shirt, trying not to feel too happy as he glanced over his shoulder and saw Dean pouting as exposed skin became covered. Dean, for his part, was trying to create a magnetic field of laziness. "Like you don't want it worse than me."

"Dean," Castiel laughed, finishing with his shirt buttons and leaning over the bed, staring Dean straight in the eyes, "I had you figured from the moment you stepped into my office. And, gay or straight, you always have and always will be a horny little drama queen."

Dean might have been about to protest, but was cut off by Castiel's mouth pressed to his.

"You're an ass," he said, when they parted.

"An ass who's still expecting breakfast," Castiel corrected before practically flouncing out of the room.

(-*-)

It all happened rather suddenly. One minute, Dean and Cas were eating bacon and eggs together on the couch, and the next, Cas was barking into his phone, demanding his attorney make sense.

It was the mail-man that did it.

Dean knew this, because Cas went down to the lobby to get his mail, and five minutes later he came back, clutching a white envelope with his address peering through the plastic window, waiting to leap forward and destroy everything.

The letter involved a lot of overly formal blather, all typed neatly under a header declaring it came from the California Board of Psychology. The interesting bit, though, the bit that had drained any vestige of colour from Cas's face and caused him to slump limply into a nearby chair, and had rooted Dean to the spot with terror when Cas read it aloud, was the paragraph that read as follows:

"We are writing to inform you that, by anonymous complaint, you have been accused of abuse of your position, sexual involvement with a patient, negligence of a patient and sexually lewd behaviour in session. As this is a very serious issue which the board cannot afford to overlook, the complaint has been immediately referred to a trained Peace Officer for formal investigation. Your Peace Officer will contact you with details of the beginning of the investigation, but the Board strongly suggests you suspend all practices until the investigation, and any subsequent disciplinary action, has been completed."

Dean stared at Castiel, who was storming round the apartment and waving the letter, demanding his attorney get on the case. He tried to swallow the lump that had materialised in his throat, but it wouldn't move. He could barely breathe; everything was swimming and fading…

Castiel hung up the phone and looked over at Dean, suddenly the weak, nervous man full of quiet worry that he had seen when he first walked into his office, all those months ago.

"What… Do we..?"

Castiel shrugged, and sat down heavily.

"Do you want me to go? Or not?"

Castiel stared at the floor. Dean laughed, nervously.

"Well, c'mon Cas, give me something to work on."

"I don't know, Dean. I just…. Don't know."

Dean stood, staring for a moment at the door. Then, quietly, he walked to the kitchen and started making coffee. He held his breath, closed his eyes and clenched his fists against the worktop, trying not to hear the wavering sigh Castiel gave as he dialled Becky's number and told her not to come in until further notice.

(-*-)

Dean put on a smile for the end of the year, but if he acted interested in Sam and Gabriel's big mushy reunion, it was only because he welcomed a distraction from the dull ache of not seeing Castiel. They had decided to stay apart, until the investigation was over, for their own sakes.

But god did it hurt.

January first was a big day for Dean. For once, Sam was showered and starting to act like a human again, and actually looking happy. Dean punched him on the shoulder as he handed over a mug of coffee.

"Mornin' starshine."

"Hey. What time is it?"

"Ten. Got plans for today?"

"I dunno. Catch up on my sleep… maybe get booked in for a haircut somewhere… laundry…" Sam shrugged.

"Cool. There's hockey on tomorrow, wanna go?"

"Sure. I think Gabriel might have wanted to do something, but we can rearrange."

"Or he could come with."

"Sure, if you're… ok with that?"

"Yeah. Sure. I mean, I don't want to see you guys sucking face, but it couldn't hurt to hang out with the guy." Dean shrugged, and sipped on his coffee.

"So, what have you been up to? You know, while I was all…" Sam rolled his eyes back in his head and groaned.

Dean scratched his cheek.

"Little of this, little of that. Put new shocks on the car, finished reading that Dan Brown book, total crap… Had sex with a guy…"

Sam thoughtfully regurgitated his coffee all over the kitchen table.

"What?" He managed, after a choking fit.

"I'm gay now. And, uh, oh yeah, I fixed that thing at the back of the fridge that was making that clunk noise. See ya later."

Dean walked out of the kitchen, smiling at Sam's shocked face and wondering what he should do with himself.


	22. Chapter 22

Castiel stared at the back of his office door, hands idly playing over the edge of his desk.

He already missed it.

He couldn't begin to comprehend how he could get out of this.

He had fallen for a patient, and had let himself become utterly happy. And now he was paying for it. He heaved a sigh and paced from his desk to his bookcase and back again, purely to express some of the restless energy that was boiling up inside him. He looked at the miniature clock on his desk, and sighed again.

He had been told he would be meeting his Peace Officer at nine. He had, in a fit of restless anxiety, gotten to the office at half eight. It was still only ten to nine, but time had begun to stretch and warp awkwardly, so that he felt it had been an hour.

A day.

A year.

He stared around the office, his things, the mementos and flaws and a billion other silly memories that made it his. The scuff mark on the wall from an intense anger management session. The burn mark on the desk where an OCD patient dropped his cigarette lighter. The stain on his carpet where he dropped his food when Becky caught him fantasizing over Dean.

He would have cried, but he was so washed out. He felt empty. Scared. Nauseous.

Why wasn't he allowed to be happy?

He had never been happy, never been truly, ultimately happy, before Dean. And then he was. He was blissful. And now someone, some cruel person, had decided to take it away from him. And he didn't think there was a single thing that could have made it better.

He sat, perched on his desk, and watched the seconds tick by.

After what seemed like an eternity, there was a knock at the door, and Castiel stood, ready to meet the Peace Officer.

(-*-)

The lecture hall was pretty crowded. Students attended Crowley's lectures because they were terrified of what he would do if they didn't. Nine times out of ten he didn't even take the register, but no one wanted to be the fool who tried to play him. Crowley was unpredictable, and could be very petty if he chose to be.

So the lecture hall was full, tiered rows of seats hat backed away like an amphitheatre, with people taking notes and not daring to let their attention slip.

"Now, I know a lot of you might have found this a hard concept to grasp," Crowley said, eyes skimming over the crowd, "and I know how helpful it is to have the lecture's slides on the college intranet. However, I also know that if you couldn't grasp this then you have no chance of passing the finals and I believe in survival of the fittest. So get out of my lecture hall and go back to killing of your brain cells with the prohibited pleasure of your choice."

The students all got up and left, as eager to be gone as Crowley was for them to leave.

One by one everyone filed out, leaving only Crowley, and one dark figure at the back of the class. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Class is over, young man."

The figure didn't move.

"OI!" He tried again, "GET UP. AND GET OUT OF MY CLASSROOM."

"We need to talk." The figure growled, finding his feet and moving towards the front of the class. Crowley changed tone.

"Dean. What a pleasant surprise. And what, exactly, do we need to talk about?"

Dean didn't stop walking when he got to the front of the class. He carried on, grabbing Crowley by the throat and shoved him back against the blackboard.

"What did you do to Cas?"

"Do?"

"What, you can't stand seeing him happy with or without you, you think you've got the right to tell the authorities?"

"Dean?" Crowley croaked, prizing Dean's hand away from his oesophagus. "Am I really the type of person you can see running to the rule book?" He cleared his throat, rubbing at his neck as he pushed past Dean and gathered up his notes. "Honestly, if you only used that brain of yours for something other than hooking up or the price of beer."

"So you didn't file the complaint?"

"About Castiel's sordid little romance with you? No, frankly I hadn't even thought of him for the last few weeks. I'm negotiating a slight change in my career path." Crowley picked up his briefcase, and shot Dean another grin. "Sorry to bring down your justice crusade and all. How did therapy work for you?"

"Yeah…" Dean nodded, caught off guard. "It worked great. I'm out now."

"Ah, congratulations. May I recommend the Devil's Doorway on 67th street if you're ever in need of a night out. I'm a shareholder."

Crowley left, and Dean looked around the lecture hall, trying to get a handle on his thoughts and wondering if it would be as easy to sneak out as it was to sneak in.

After a while, his phone rang.

"Yeah?"  
>"Dean," Castiel's voice made Dean's stomach lurch. "I need to see you. I have news."<p>

(-*-)

Dean had never made it to Castiel's apartment in less time.

"What's up?" Dean said, before, Castiel had even opened the door. Castiel grabbed Dean's arm and led him inside, dragging him over to the couch.

"It was Ruby. Garth, my Peace Officer, he told me it was Ruby so I could vouch for my treatment of her. He said he'd need to talk to someone to be my character witness so I gave him Becky's details and you won't believe it, Dean!" Castiel sat Dean down and sat opposite him on the coffee table, holding his hands so tightly Dean thought his fingers might fall off.

"What, believe what?"

"Garth is Becky's boyfriend."

"I thought Becky was with Chuck?"

"No, Becky's not monogamous!" Castiel said this as if he was claiming the winning lottery numbers. "She's been seeing Garth and Chuck. Alternating."

"And that's… good?"

"Yes!" Castiel grinned. "Garth wants to win out Becky's affection. Wants to be her only boyfriend. He's told me how to win the trial."

"Trial, woah, there's a trial?"

"There has to be, it'll be a small… only in front of the board, but that's the thing… I've got to get a drink, would you… do you want one?" Castiel stood to leave, but Dean pulled him down.

"The trial, Cas, what about the trial?"

"Ruby filed the complaint about herself. She claims that I made sexual advances towards her, and refused to see her for sessions when I turned her down."

"Bitch."

"Yes, I agree, but that's easily disproved. I have Becky as a character witness, and I just need one other person to testify that I am gay and have no interest in her, and they'll drop the whole case."

"That easy?"

"Yes. And, um…" Castiel stood again, not waiting this time before he wandered off to the kitchen. Dean followed him.

"And?"

"Well, the thing is, I could ask Gabriel but I'd really rather not. He doesn't know anything about this whole mess and I don't particularly want him to."  
>"So who'd be your other witness?"<p>

Castiel busied himself with pouring out orange juice, turning his back on Dean.

"Cas?"

"I… I'd understand if you weren't comfortable… It's… it's still a new side of your personality, being open about it at, at this stage…"

Dean stepped back, leaning against the door frame.

"You want me…"

"It doesn't have to be you, it could be Gabriel." Castiel hurried over to Dean, gripping one hand in his and resting his free hand on Dean's neck. "I could even swallow my pride and ask Crowley to testify, but…"

"But he's not going to be giving you favours any time soon," Dean said, an edge of guilt about him.

"So you see the problem?" Castiel stared at Dean, looking and sounding as if this was the worst position he could be in. Dean could see the problem.

"I don't know, Cas, it's… That's pressure on me, you know?"

"I understand, Dean, of course I do," Castiel nodded, kissing Dean on the cheek. "I don't except you to answer any time soon. The hearing is January thirtieth. That's three weeks, Dean, and if you're not completely comfortable I won't make you do it."

"Who would you get instead?"

Castiel patted Dean's arm and walked back over to the counter to get his juice.

"I'll find someone. Did you want a glass, or..?"

"No, thanks, I…" Dean gestured vaguely towards the door, backing out of the room. "I just… need some space. I'll, uh, I'll call you later?"

"Ok," Castiel nodded, mimicking Dean's wave as he watched the man go. He sat down at the kitchen table, and rubbed a hand over his face. So much for the happier with Dean theory.


	23. Chapter 23

When Dean got home, he had to resist the urge to turn around and run straight out again.

Sam and Gabriel were stood in front of the TV, making out.

Dean walked in quietly, eased the door closed to the point where it was nearly shut, and then slammed it.

They both jumped so much that Gabriel head-butted Sam in the nose.

Dean smirked, always finding Sam's bitch-face amusing, especially if it was as a result of butting in on a make-out session. Sam, clutching his face and glowering at Dean, pushed past him to the kitchen.

"Yeah, you'll…" Gabriel stood rooted to the spot, staring at the wall. "You'll wanna put some ice on that."

Dean crossed the room and threw himself down on the couch, grabbing the remote.

"You want to move? I need some TV time."

Gabriel managed to uproot himself, perching on one of the lounger seats. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You don't have to act like I might kill you, Gabriel, I was one of the people helping you two get back together, remember?"

"Heh, yeah…" Gabriel started to relax a little, but he still looked awkward. Dorks in love, Dean guessed. "What are we watching?"

"Don't know…" Dean flicked over to the TV guide channel. "Ooh, Doctor Sexy rerun…"

"You turn that on and I will tear out your spleen," Gabriel advised, but he smirked. Dean supposed they could joke, at least.

"You want a beer?"

"Sure."

"Hey, Sammy, how about some beers while you're in there?"

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

But when Sam returned from the kitchen, clutching a bag of frozen peas to his nose, he had three bottles of beer with him all the same. He sat on the arm of Gabriel's chair, leaning back and resting his arm behind Gabriel's shoulders.

Dean watched them for a moment, before returning to the TV guide.

"Uh… look, Blues Brothers… only started a few minutes ago, you want to watch?"

"Sure," Sam nodded, easing the bag of peas away from his face and revealing an already bruising nose. "Haven't seen you all day man, where were you?"

"Just… around. Errands and stuff." Dean shrugged, glancing between the TV and his brother's domestic little picture perfect corner of the room. "You?"

Sam and Gabriel exchanged embarrassed glances (stupid loved-up dorks) and became suddenly very interested in their beer bottles.

"We kind of just… spent the day catching up." Sam said, which for some reason Gabriel seemed to find very funny. "You know… couples stuff."

Dean was going to punch something.

Probably one of them.

He lay back on the couch and stared at the TV, not focusing on what was going on.

"Awesome."

They watched the movie (Dean watched the movie and Sam and Gabriel made kissy goo-goo faces at each other and Dean did not care at all). Eventually, as the end credits started rolling, Dean looked at his watch.

"Well, we better get food going. I don't know about you saps, but I'm hungry."

"Sure," Sam shot Dean a quick, conspiratorial smile, before turning to Gabriel. "Gabe, my foot's gone to sleep, could you take the empties out to the kitchen?"

"Sure," Gabriel looked like he might argue, but he stood and collected the empty beer bottles, and carried them through to the kitchen. As soon as he was out of earshot, Sam leant forward.

"Did you get the groceries in like you said you were going to?" He whispered, grinning.

"Yeah…"

"Ok, check this out, I can get him to make us dinner."

"Seriously?" Dean chuckled. "What, you're back together for a week and you're playing him?"

"Who's playing?" Sam said, "he likes cooking and I figure he owes me one for using our relationship for stand-up material. You want dinner or not?"

"Ok." Dean said, sitting back with a shrug.

Sam gave Dean his smart-ass, "check this out" smile again, before clearing his throat and calling through to the kitchen.

"Hey Gabe? Dean wants pizza and I want Chinese, what's your vote?"

There was a pause for a moment.

"You've not got any food in?"

"No, we've got food, but… it'll keep for a few days, right? It's all fresh…"

Gabriel left the kitchen and stared at Sam.

"Yeah, fresh now, it's not gonna be all that fresh by tomorrow."

Sam heaved a sigh.

"But cooking's hard. I don't even know what I could do…"

"No it's not, you could… Ugh, hang on…" Gabriel retreated back into the kitchen, and the clattering of pots and pans soon echoed around the kitchen.

"You're evil, dude." Dean laughed, grabbing the remote again and flicking through the channels.

"Yeah, but he is too so it evens out," Sam said, slipping off the chair arm and into the actual chair. "So… are you and I gonna talk about what you said to me the other day?"

"What?" Dean looked over at his brother, sitting up a little. "You mean the me being gay thing? If you want."

"Just…" Sam shrugged, looking more than a little awkward. "So is there any guy or is it just a personal thing?"

Dean thought for a moment.

"There… was. We're kind of… cooling things right now." Dean stared ahead at the TV.

"Can I ask why, or..?"

"Just… he's got work stuff," Dean said, feeling the full truth, the proper, beautiful truth of Castiel straining at his throat like it wanted to claw its' way out of him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"When you… you know, when you were out, at first…" Dean scratched his neck and sat back, changing his weight before leaning forward again, still not looking at Sam. "Did you ever feel like you had to… test yourself?"

Sam didn't say anything for a while.

"You mean, like… for diseases? Because, no, it's good that you're doing that, it's a big part of being, uh, being… sexually…"

"Ew, you bitch, no." Dean managed to look at Sam, if only to display his disgust for a second before looking away again. "No, I mean like… so I know I'm… gay. I'm not used to saying it or whatever but I am. And I'm ok with that now, and you know, all my family knows so yeah. I'm ok with that. But… What if… I'm not sure if I'm ready for, for everyone else to know. Y'know?"

Sam sat back in his chair, took a deep breath, and puffed it out through his cheeks.

"Yeah. I get it. You're worried about how people see you, based on this new side of you. And you're worried, about committing to this part of you, right?"

Dean nodded, he looked over at Sam, hoping he wasn't looking at him like he was a pity case.

No such luck.

"Ok, you keep looking at me like that, I'm gonna punch what's left of your nose right off your face."

"Sorry, just… there's no answer to that, Dean." Sam shrugged, pushing himself to his feet. "You've gotta do what's right for you, at your own pace. If you're not ready to go public, then you're not ready. And that's cool. I mean, whenever you decide to do… whatever you've got to do… I'm here for you, man." Sam pressed his frozen peas to his face. "Well, not right now, right now I'm going in there to check Gabe hasn't burned down the kitchen or anything. But… we good?"

"Yeah, Sam." Dean sat back on the couch, staring at the TV again. "We're good. Thanks."

For nothing.


	24. Chapter 24

Dean didn't call Cas that evening. Instead, he sat and watched TV, while Sam and Gabriel debated about whether they wanted to go out for a drink, and if one of them should go feed Gabriel's dog or if they were going to be busy the next morning and how that effected that evening's plans in that annoying way couples have of suddenly becoming seemingly incapable of making a decision because they suddenly have to make up two minds instead of one, which is only ever really annoying to people who long to be in a couple and have someone to dither about and argue with and Dean swore to God if they didn't leave soon he was going to punch…

They left, happily calling goodbye to Dean and not waiting around much for an answer.

Dean continued to stare at the TV and tried to distract himself from the thoughts that were playing on a loop in his brain.

_I can't let Cas down._

_I don't think I can do it._

_Why does this scare me so much?_

_I can't let Cas down,_

_I don't think I can do it,_

_Why does this scare me so much?_

Over and over, faster and faster. He didn't call Cas. He sat there, on the couch, and later on, when Sam didn't come back, he relocated to his bed, and sat there. He let himself stagnate, caught in this tangled vine of thoughts, until, eyes heavy with sleep and mind tipping sideways into that strange dimension between asleep and awake, a memory fell into Dean's skull and promptly slapped him around the back of the face.

It had been a couple of months after the hearing, when he and Sam had just gotten settled in with Bobby and Ellen… He could see it clear as day in his head, as if someone had hit play on DeanTube.

He'd woken up one morning, gone downstairs to the kitchen, brighter, back then, or maybe he only thought that after living with his Dad who never bothered changing the lightbulbs and covered everything in a blanket of nicotine stains. Dean had eaten his breakfast of a green stripy-patterned bowl of oatmeal with a chopped up banana in it, Sam wouldn't eat his without some of Ellen's am on the top. They'd hiked on their jackets (denim for Dean, plaid fleece for Sam) by the front door and pulled on their bookbags, and Ellen had asked if they wanted walking to the bus stop and Dean had said no, he was big enough thanks, and what they didn't need on the first day of school was everyone thinking their mom still walked them to the bus, and Bobby had told him not to get smart and he'd said yes, sir.

Then Bobby and Ellen had given each other that look, that look Dean would never let them know he saw. The look that they gave each other when they remembered why they were having to look after him and Sam in the first place.

So Bobby had cleared his throat and closed his newspaper and said he had to go open up the yard, so would they mind keeping him company just to the fence, and Sam had said Sure Bobby and elbowed Dean because Sam knew what the look meant too, and he wasn't dumb.

So Bobby had put on his boots, the ratty old brown ones with the cloth peeling away on the toe so a little bit of the steel toe cap peeked through, and the three of them had walked to the gate of the auto yard. And they waved goodbye and Dean and Sam headed off to the bus stop, but then they stopped. That was when they'd seen it. On the outside fence, sprayed onto the wall were six foot tall red paint letters, big bulbous circles thinning to a point that dripped blood red, the sign of a hasty spray job by an amateur. They hadn't wasted time on making it Look nice. They were ugly words.

"GO HOME FUCK-UPS"

Bobby stared at the letters, his face slowly turning as red as the paint. Dean had asked him if he was ok. Bobby had looked at them, told them to get or they'd be late on their first day. Had tried to smile. When they got home again, Bobby and Ellen were both scrubbing at the paint. Dean had asked if he could help, but Ellen had given him a tired smile and said no, sweetie, thank you, and when did they want dinner. Dean had asked Bobby why someone would paint a cuss word on the fence, and Bobby had said, stepping back to take a break from scrubbing,

"Kid, sometimes people hear a half a story and they decide the rest of it's about them."

Then Ellen had said they should all go inside and have a drink and they had, but Sam had asked him later why those words had been painted there. Dean had figured what Bobby meant was: "make sure you keep your business to yourself, 'cos if no one knows about it, no one can get pissed off".

(-*-)

Castiel awoke to a hammering on his door. He blinked, scrunching up his face against the assault on his senses that was known as Morning.

Slipping his feet into a pair of blue flannelly slippers, he dragged himself through the main room of his apartment and towards the front door. When he opened it, Dean was stood there, in faded jeans and a near unrecognisable band t-shirt (the logo almost washed off), grinning like the… like a… Castiel was too tired for similes, and even when fully awake he doubted he could find anything to match the sun-shining-out-of-his-flawless-skin, eyes-shining-like-glazed-pastries, clean-hair-clean-shaved joy that was on Dean Winchester's face right now, and was equal parts cheering, enamouring, and slightly scary.

Dean held up a familiar brown bag.

"I bought bagels."

Castiel was suddenly very aware that he was standing, in the middle of January, at his front door wearing nothing but pyjama pants and slippers.

"Come in."

Dean changed the smile to a smirk, grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and kissed him, before continuing into the house.

"You are gonna be so damn proud of me."

Cas closed the front door, and followed the sound of Dean's voice to the kitchen.

"Can I have coffee first? This feels like the sort of thing I'd need coffee for."


	25. Chapter 25

Cas stared at the steam looping and whirling off of his coffee into the chill of January that somehow had managed to penetrate his apartment.

He needed to talk to the Superintendent about fixing the heating.

Dean was speaking, pacing around the tiny kitchen, spots of colour in his cheeks, hands waving wildly as he spoke, stopping occasionally to grab his bagel from the table and take a bite.

Castiel was listening, as he sat at the table, staring at the dancing steam wisps.

He just wasn't sure he was hearing him correctly.

Eventually, Dean stopped speaking and turned to look at him, expectant.

Castiel cleared his throat, not managing to tear his eyes away from the coffee.

"So, you threatened Crowley."

"Yeah."

"And then you went to his club with him?"

"That's your take away from that story?" Dean span a chair around and slumped into it, leaning his elbows on the back and straddling the seat. "I mean… I came out, Cas, properly out. I went to a gay bar. And if I can be gay at a gay bar, with strangers, then I can be gay in front of anyone! I'm ready, Cas, I can speak at your hearing."

"No, I heard that." Castiel still couldn't look away from his coffee, in fact, he was getting more drawn into it by the second. His fingers, though they felt glued to the tabletop, began to twitch slightly, mirroring the erratic movements of the coffee vapour.

He liked coffee. He drank a lot of it. Probably bled coffee, if you cut him. Dean had made him this coffee, and he had to say that Dean made very good coffee. Rich, strong, sharp, but not bitter, with a little sugar to sweeten the tang. Castiel took his coffee black, as he felt the creamer diluted it, but Dean always put a little milk in it because that was how he took his, and Cas always thought it made it better, just caught between black and white.

It was in his favourite mug, too, a white one with a string of blue dots that led up the handle and around the rim. It had once been part of a set, but one by one the mugs had fallen, dropped, cracked… disappeared to the unknown lands that mugs sometimes do. Now it was all alone, but it was still Castiel's favourite.

Dean was staring at him. He could feel it.

"So?"

"So, Dean, what you're telling me is you, while I was stuck here fretting over the situation I had put you in, had I asked too much, was I being insensitive, should I even have asked… You went to a gay bar with your ex boyfriend. Danced, drank, partied with other men. That's what you're telling me."

Dean stared at him, the spots of colour rising in his cheeks again, not that Castiel saw. He was starting to see shapes, faces, divining themselves in the steam.

"I didn't… come on, Cas, you're being unreasonable."

"Am I? I'm just repeating what you said."  
>"Cas, I wasn't… all I did was get a couple of drinks, man I hated it!"<p>

"And yet you went."

"Cas?"

Castiel's eyes slipped down the line of dots.

"Cas, would you look at me?"

One, two, three, four…

"Cas?"

Nineteen, twenty, twenty one dots from the top of the handle to the bottom.

Twenty one.

That was annoying.

The chair scraped against the floor as Dean stood up. He walked quickly around the table, his hand slamming on the table in front of Cas as he tried to put himself in Castiel's line of vision. Cas closed his eyes.

"Oh come on! You know there's nothing going on between me and Crowley, Cas. It's you. It's probably only ever gonna be you."

Castiel opened his eyes, taking a deep breath as he levelled Dean with a stare.

"What are you expecting? Are you expecting me to say 'well done, Dean, you passed the Gay Test'? Do you think that's how it works? A system of proof? Initiation, perhaps, into the secret brotherhood of homosexuals?"

"Cas," Dean seemed to crumple a little bit, dropping from his stooped crouch to a position kneeling by Castiel's chair. He rested his hand over Castiel's, and looked up at him. There were bags under his eyes. "I'm trying, OK? I don't know any other way to do it. Just, listen."

So he told the story again. How he'd gone home and seen Sam and Gabriel being all gushy and twee, and he'd thought, how lucky Sam was to have got all this sorted when he was a teenager. Then he'd thought about how Bobby and Ellen had handled Sam's coming out. So he figured, if it had worked then, it would work now.

A quick google had brought up a list of local gay bars, most of which were closed for refurbishing or private functions when he turned up to them. There was one that was open, and looked pretty promising to Dean (it reminded him of a Sports Bar he used to frequent, back before it closed), but the bouncer had told him it was lesbians only for the night. Which left him with the sleek, black-walled-red-neon pit that was The Devil's Doorway. The line had been huge, and he'd been given a few odd looks when he started queueing on his own, but soon enough Crowley marched past, never missing the chance to take advantage.

"Who wants to come in out of the cold with me, hmm?" He had on a big black coat and a shit-eating grin as he prowled the length of the line, looking for some poor sap to take advantage of. When his eyes had met Dean's, however, an entirely different expression came over him. It was somewhere between surprise and grudging respect, and he'd motioned for Dean to step out of the line. When Dean got near enough to hear him over the buzzing bassline that came pounding through the club's walls, Crowley clapped him on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the world," He had said, with his shark-like grin back in place, and he'd pointed to a guy dressed entirely in leather and beckoned him over. "You, too. The rest of you, I hope you brought thermals. Come on, boys."

And with that, he'd swept on into the club, Dean and Leathers following in his wake.

Inside of the club, everything was dark, with the only light coming from red sconces on the walls, and red spotlights on the ceiling. Everything seemed to be bathed in the bloody light, and anything that wasn't was deemed not worth seeing. The music was loud and incessant, and seemed to grab Dean's heart and constrict, like a coiled, pulsating snake. His brain was catapulted three blocks over, wondering what Castiel was doing. Probably something quiet, grading papers or watching TV, or reading, with classic rock playing quietly in the background.

He had followed Crowley to the bar, when he'd been presented with something blue in a cocktail glass (again, his brain fled from his body, wrapping itself in the comforting image of Castiel's eyes.

There had been little or no conversation (the volume of the music made it impossible), but a few guys had approached, trying to entice him to dance.

Dean had replied no, and when asked why, he'd told them he was taken.

Plus, he was really not dressed for the scene, in jeans and a tee, and nothing leather, pleather or plastic.

Crowley had, after a couple of hours, given up on trying to ply him with drinks, and leant in close to his ear.

"You look bloody miserable. Go home before you start depressing my customers."

And Dean had. He'd wondered, as he walked home, the cold air wringing the alcohol out of his brain, how a psychology lecturer had managed to buy a club, but that was none of his business. He'd gone home, gone up to the roof, and stared out at the city. The lights stretching out below him and the stars stretching out above. Without knowing why, he'd whispered into the wind.

"I'm gay."

The men at the club had been attractive. The men they'd been dancing with, the open-ness of it all. It felt like he'd been looking at all the things he'd hidden away from himself for years.

"I'm gay," he'd repeated, louder, to himself.

Was he going to scream it out to the heavens? No. That wasn't his style. But he knew. And that thought was enough to get him back inside and asleep.

He'd woken up, washed and dressed, gone to the bagel shop, winked at the cashier (who looked tired but happy in his uniform, which must have been comfortable after the head-to-toe leather he'd been wearing last night) and marched over to Castiel's.

He had learned something. He was Gay, but he was still Dean. And that was that.

This time, when he came to the end of his story, on his knees beside Castiel, he was the one who couldn't look away from Castiel's mug of coffee.

"You know," he said, at length, "hearing it back, I can see how you'd be mad. But, but I know, now. I was miserable without you around. So we need to win you this case, so you can be you and I can be me… and we can be together. I want to make you happy, Cas."

Eventually, he dragged his eyes away from the coffee, and looked up to Castiel's face.

Cas was smiling a big, goofy grin, and that made Dean's face break apart into a smile of its own. Cas lifted his hands from the table, cupped Dean's face, leant down and kissed him, slow and long, and Dean could feel him smiling between kisses.

Castiel sat back, after a while, picking up his coffee.

"I'm glad. And, you're right, I am proud of you. I'm sorry I didn't understand."

Dean stood, and ruffled Castiel's still unruly hair.

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have tried talking to you before your first coffee."

Castiel laughed, and raised his mug to his lips, before grimacing as he swallowed a mouthful of the stuff.

"Which is now cold."

Dean took the mug from him, kissed the aftertaste of cold coffee from his lips, and started on making another pot.

This, Castiel thought, could make him like mornings.


	26. Chapter 26

"Please state your name for the record."

"Dean Winchester."

Dean stood facing the advisory board, ten humourless shrinks in expensive suits, along one side of an oval table. They were in a meeting room in Small Claims Court, with a justice of the peace and a stenographer. Dean had on his best suit, and was sat between Cas and his advisor, Garth. At the other end of the table sat Ruby, wearing a business suit and a deep, deep frown, and her lawyer, an oily, creepy looking guy who'd introduced himself as Alistair. Whether that was his first name or his last was unclear.

"Mr Winchester," the head of the board was talking, "could you also state for the record your relation to Dr DiAngelo."

"I'm his boyfriend."

And so the afternoon wore on. Dean and Cas were asked to leave the room whilst the board reached their verdict. They sat on the wooden benches in the hall outside the meeting room, and tried to put the words together to ask each other if they wanted to go get food of some kind.

The words weren't there, though. They both felt like they'd used up all their words inside the hearing. So they sat there, pressed together from toe to shoulder, Castiel knitting his fingers between Dean's and leaning his head on his shoulder. Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel's forehead, and squeezed his hand From somewhere, in the recesses of his brain, he found the words for just one sentence.

"I hope we're gonna be alright."

(-*-)

The office was small, with most of it given over to the actual office, but a small space inside the door which was a waiting room, a reception of sorts. The walls were white, the carpet was that odd, short pile carpet in a speckled blue-green-grey that only appears in offices. There were some dusty rubber plants either side of a big bookcase, which sat against the wall behind a reception desk.

Dean was currently stood by the door that would lead to the waiting room, working up the courage to go inside. He was waiting to go into a waiting room, and as far as he was concerned, it was all his own fault. He couldn't blame Sam for this one.

Dean used to be uncomfortable around head-shrinkers. It was understandable, he'd seen enough of them when he was a kid. But he wasn't uncomfortable any more.

Dean hadn't been uncomfortable since Sam had told him to see this one, particular shrinker. The guy was Sam's date's brother, and a lecturer at the college Dean had dropped out of two years previously.

Maybe Dean had been uncomfortable at first, and undoubtedly it was because he had secretly thought that Sam was right.

Dean gently but firmly escorted these thoughts from his mind, gripped the door handle, and pushed his way in. Once he had escorted the inappropriate thoughts away, he quietly closed the door and thought about himself. About everything and nothing in particular.

He'd been doing a lot of thinking lately.

Dean was gay. Sam was gay, or bi, or whatever, and he'd long since accepted that. But Dean had taken a while longer to accept his own sexuality. He had this one guy to thank for that. The guy who'd finally got through Dean's pig-headed, stubborn fear of being anything other than the perfect son.

The receptionist, a blonde girl with wide eyes and a far-away gleam in her eye, jumped out of her skin as she walked through from the psychiatrist's office and saw Dean.

"Hey Becky."

"Dean! You scared me!"

"Uh… sorry?"

"I was just… thinking about stuff. Nothing."

"You sure?" Dean quirked an eyebrow at her. "Boys giving you trouble again?"

Becky sat behind the receptionist desk, giving him a world weary look.

"Why is it that it's completely fine for a guy to have more than one girlfriend, but as soon as a girl is non-monogamous…"

"Guys are possessive." Dean shrugged. "We're all fundamentally insecure about one thing or another, right? Guys tend to be territorial, make up for it."

Becky frowned, unconvinced, Dean patted her on the shoulder.

"Yeah, deal with it. Is he free?"

Becky waved him on in, tapping uninterestedly at her computer. Dean left her to it, and went through to the psychologist's office, throwing himself down on the black couch.

"You know Doc, I think I found myself the other day, you know, really found the reason I am the way I am. I think it started with my mother, she always burned the spaghetti."

"And hello to you too, Dean," the voice came from across the room. The owner of the voice was average height, slightly shorter than Dean, fairly slender, with pale skin and dark hair, which was scruffy on his head and scrubby on his cheeks and jaw. He wore a white shirt with a blue tie, and didn't turn to look at Dean until he had finished putting books away on the shelves. When he did turn, he was wearing that weary smile that Dean loved. The one that said "I'm trying to give you the impression that your antics don't amuse me, purely because one of us has to be the mature adult, but you make it very difficult for me".

Dean had missed him. After the hearing, Castiel had been cleared, but had gotten snowed under with all of his work at the college. After months, though, he was finally free from grading papers.

Not that Dean hadn't stayed over, made meals, generally sorted out Castiel's scatter-brained-academic ass, but he'd felt like he hadn't had Castiel's full and undivided attention for a while. Plus, he may have been OK with being gay, but he was still Dean, and being romantic in public (or, you know, actually telling people anything) was something he was still working on. Which meant that it was May and he was only just actually using Castiel's name when talking about his "guy… friend".

"So are you ready?" Dean reclined further on the couch.

"Almost. Just let me shut down my computer."

"Do it fast. I'm hungry."

"I can only tell the computer to shut down. The speed of the processing is entirely beyond my control."  
>Dean laughed. "Dork."<p>

Castiel smiled at him, almost shaking his head, before returning his attention to the computer. Dean cleared his throat, sitting up.

"So, Sam got his results yesterday. Passed the bar."

"Ah, my congratulations to him. It's a shame I couldn't be there in person."  
>"Yeah, and, uh… we realised that our lease is up on the apartment in like a month." Dean stood and put his hands in his pockets, walking over to where Castiel sat, suddenly very still.<p>

"Oh," Castiel managed.

"Yeah, Sam and Gabriel are probably going to move in together. Which is cool, but I still need a place to stay, at least, you know… while I find somewhere permanent."

Castiel stood, turned off the computer screen, turned to face Dean and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deep, long kiss.

When they parted, Dean smiled at Cas, who slapped Dean on the ass and walked over to his coat stand, pulling on his billowy trenchcoat as he swept out of the room.

"Dinner first, Dean, you know I won't make decisions on an empty stomach."

Dean knew. He waved goodnight to Becky, and caught up with Cas at the top of the stairs. They walked down to ground level together, before walking out into the evening.

It wasn't perfect. It probably wasn't what his Dad would have wanted.

But to Dean, things seemed pretty ok.


End file.
